


Miracles

by BrynTWedge



Series: Paths Walked Together [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adorable Greg Lestrade, Anxiety, Betrayal, Depression, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Forgiveness, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, Greg Lestrade & Sherlock Holmes Friendship, Greg is Sweet, Hurt, Lestrade-centric, M/M, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft IS the British Government, Mycroft suffers, Poor Lestrade, Relationship Problems, Repressed John, Romantic Mycroft, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Suicidal Ideation, Supportive Greg, resolutions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-06 07:38:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 44,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12206766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrynTWedge/pseuds/BrynTWedge
Summary: Sherlock returns, and Greg has difficulty forgiving Mycroft for his deception over the previous two years. The world Sherlock returns to is not the same as the one he left, and so Greg becomes pivotal in helping him cope with the continued changes... all the while making a few changes of his own that will affect the Holmes brothers forever.





	1. Sherlock in the Shadows

Greg was still in a state of stunned silence. Sherlock was alive, and standing there before him. He felt his emotions begin to overwhelm him again, and he couldn’t fight the tears forming in his eyes. Sherlock crooked his head slightly, not understanding what was happening. It was all just too much for Greg. 

“Are you alright, Greg?” Sherlock asked. Greg nodded, but then shook his head. Sherlock remained confused. He waved his hand for Sherlock to follow him to his car. He just needed to sit down. 

He unlocked the vehicle and climbed into the driver’s seat. Sherlock was hesitant, but joined him in the passenger side. His movements were slow, and Greg noticed a small wince as Sherlock seated himself. 

“You alright, Sherlock? You seem to be in pain.”  
“I’m fine.”   
“What happened? You’ve got a split lip and … were you punched in the nose?” Greg asked, now being able to see him up close.  
“Head-butted, actually.” Sherlock said, smiling. 

Oh how Greg had missed that smile. He felt more tears fall. Sherlock looked concerned.   
“You don’t normally express your emotions this much.” He stated, not sure if he should ask for a reason.   
“Maybe not before you left.” Greg commented, and Sherlock sunk into himself.  
“I’m sorry.” 

Greg looked at him firmly.  
“I’m just glad you’re here. Really." 

There was some silence.   
“I missed you.” Sherlock said quietly. He sounded so vulnerable. Greg wanted to just hug him again… but the car seats made that rather difficult.   
“I missed you too… more than you know.”  
“But it’s ok… I'm back now, things can just go back to how it was before.” Sherlock said hopefully. He eyed Greg in the way that the DI had learnt meant ‘I’m not sure’. Greg sighed deeply. 

“No, Sherlock. Things won’t ever go back to how it was before.” Greg said sincerely.  


Sherlock groaned, actually groaned, and drooped in his chair. Greg instinctively moved his hand out to stroke Sherlock’s back like he’d done in the past while Sherlock was recovering. He didn’t expect the man to flinch away before Greg’s fingers even touched him. 

“Sherlock?”  
“Sorry. I… it’s a bit sore, right now.” Sherlock uttered, almost embarrassedly.  
“Why? What happened?”  
“Just… my time away has not been easy, Greg.” 

Greg stilled as he heard those words. He mightn’t know what exactly had happened, but he knew Sherlock enough to know that it meant something bad. The man always did downplay everything physical, especially injuries. It was always a contrast to his emotional outbursts, which were often exuberant and childish. He didn’t want to push Sherlock too much right away. He could understand how emotional it could be for him. Hell, it was bordering traumatic for him even. 

“Where were you all this time?”  
“I… I don’t know if I can say.”  
“National secrets?”  
“Well, yes, but you have the clearance for it. No, I just… don’t know if you’d be willing to hear.”  
“Sherlock… look at me.” Greg was staring at the man, but Sherlock’s blue eyes remained on the car’s floor. Reluctantly, Sherlock lifted his head up and looked at Greg. 

“I am not angry that you were gone, alright? I mean… I am hurt, that you could do that to us and leave. But… I know you, and I know you wouldn’t have done it unless there was no other option. It’ll be a lot easier for me to know what those reasons were, ok? I just am so glad that you’re here. You don’t know it, but I once said that I didn’t care how… I just wanted you back. And I mean it.”  
“Greg… you were always the kindest man I knew.” 

Greg beamed.  
“So what happened?”  


Sherlock sighed. He took a deep breath, as if bracing for something difficult.  
“Moriarty had to be stopped. He gave me the end game - kill myself and complete his story, or he’d shoot everyone I cared about. You, John, and Mrs Hudson.”  
“My God…” Greg breathed. He hadn’t anticipated that.  
“There were 13 possibilities once I got up on the roof, each one meticulously planned out…”  
“Wait.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrow. Greg had just asked him what happened, and now didn’t want to hear it?

“I … I don’t think I’m ready to hear how you did it, ok? It’s all a lot to take in, and I’m not doing so great right now.”

Sherlock’s expression softened. He could read that enough on Lestrade’s person: anxious, stressed, overworked, depressed, worried…  
“That’s fine. Thank you for telling me.” 

Greg nodded. He’d learnt early on that Sherlock needed to be told things directly, since he wasn’t going to pick up on the subtle clues. It had made their association a lot easier after that discovery. 

“Oh, John! Does he know? I’m assuming not everyone can know you’re alive?”  
“Indeed, it is still a secret. And yes, he definitely does know I’m back.” Sherlock said, his voice hinting at something more than the words. He indicated to his face, and Greg’s eyes widened in horror.   
“What? Are you serious? He did that to you?”  
“Yep.” Sherlock said, popping the ‘p’ like he sometimes did. 

Greg was suddenly angry. What the hell was John thinking? That Sherlock pretended to be dead just for fun? That he didn’t have a good enough reason? Greg growled to himself. How dare John treat his friend like that. They were granted a miracle, and John was going to try get rid of it again?

“Don’t be angry at him, Lestrade. He has a right to his feelings.”  
“But doesn’t he see how hard it would have been for you too? John gets lost in his anger sometimes, but damn… I would have thought he’d think a little more.”  
“Well, to be fair… I wasn’t as sensitive about the topic as I should have been.” 

Greg looked at him, and Sherlock gave a sheepish look. Of course he wasn’t.   
“What did you do?” Greg asked with a sigh, his body dropping back into the seat.  
“I … well, I … interrupted his proposal, made jokes about his moustache, and tried to explain to him why I did what I did only to have him shut me up with statements that he didn’t care how I faked it or why.”

Greg laughed.   
“Oh Sherlock, you have to have more tact that that.”   
“Yeah, I’m still working on that. Two years alone has made me forget some of those rules.”   
“You… you were alone, all this time? Doing what?”  
“Dismantling Moriarty’s web, of course. You three were still in danger! I couldn’t stop until I was certain that I’d ensured your safety.”  
“My God Sherlock.” Greg uttered. He’d been entirely alone, under cover, hunting criminals just to keep him, John, and Mrs Hudson safe? There was no way he could be angry at the man now, even if he had been before. 

“Have you been able to tell Mycroft? He’s been away for the past few days out of contact…”  
“Oh, Mycroft knew all along. He helped me orchestrate it all.” 

_That_ stuck a nerve. Mycroft knew… all this time?  
“… that BASTARD!” Greg shouted, causing Sherlock to jump in his seat. Greg clutched the wheel tightly, his knuckles white. He was furious and panting.   
“That fucker! Lying to us all this time?!”  
“Greg…” Sherlock wasn’t sure why Greg was so angry all of a sudden. Especially angry at Mycroft instead of him. Why did it matter so much Mycroft’s involvement?

Greg clenched his jaw as feelings of betrayal overwhelmed him. How could he do this? He trusted Mycroft completely… and yet he’d sat by and watched as he devolved so far down into depression that he tried to take his own life? And said nothing? 

“When he gets back-“  
“Oh, he’s back already. I was in his office earlier today.”  
“WHAT?” 

_Ok, that does it. He ignores me while he’s off somewhere - now it seems like he went to collect Sherlock - and didn’t even let me know that he was back? After I was worried sick over him? Fuck, he really doesn’t give a shit about my feelings._

“Buckle up.” Greg utters through clenched teeth. 

Sherlock said nothing and complied. Greg revved the engine to life, and angrily shifted gears to reverse.   
“Where were you headed after this?”  
“Um… 221B. Was going to see Mrs Hudson.”  
“I’ll take you.” 

Lestrade was short with him, and obviously very angry. Angrier than he’d seen the DI before. He was a little worried, but also curious still as to why. He observed the detective carefully, and suddenly understood. Lestrade was in a relationship - with his brother. The thought shocked him. He wasn’t… _opposed_ … to it, it was just unexpected. Things had certainly changed a lot since he’d left. Why had Mycroft never mentioned it? He noticed his brother was more emotionally taxed when they were in his office, but never would have guessed that _this_ was the reason. 

“Um… Greg? Maybe it might be better to drive when you’re not so… enraged?” Sherlock asked timidly, noticing the high speed and dangerous turns. Lestrade ignored him, and so Sherlock looked ahead through the windscreen and silently gripped the handles tighter. 

They approached Baker Street, and Greg pulled over to the side to let Sherlock out.   
“Thanks… I … think.” Sherlock stated, a little pale. “Where are you going now?”  
“Home.” Greg grunted, and Sherlock quickly figured out that he’d moved in with Mycroft and was about to confront him.  
“Ok, I’ll talk to you soon.” Sherlock said a little nervous, and closed the door. 

He stood and watched the car speed away, and was glad that he wasn’t his brother at this point.


	2. Some Space

Mycroft wandered about his flat aimlessly. He let his fingers glide over the table, and picked up the blanket that had been thrown to the floor to place back on the couch. He was overwhelmed with sorrow, looking at what he was about to lose. He’d gotten so comfortable, so _happy_ in his new life with Gregory. He felt like his insides were ripped out knowing that it was going to end in a bang soon enough. But he knew he deserved that pain. He’d been deceptive, a liar… an unforgivable monster. Gregory was entirely valid in hating him. But… at least he would have the memories to store away and look upon fondly in days to come. He was condemned to be alone, but at least he wouldn’t always be alone in his mind. 

He sighed.   
“I don’t want it to end.” Mycroft muttered pitifully as he stroked the soft fabric of the blanket Gregory had chosen. He was so anxious for the break up to come, but at the same time, he just wanted it to be over already. He was already mourning the loss. At least Gregory would be happy eventually, not being around him anymore. 

Mycroft heard a car stop close by, and then keys in the lock. He stood up straight, as a soldier headed to battle, and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Time to face it all. 

The door opened, and then slammed.   
“MYCROFT!” Greg shouted. 

The British Government walked out into the hallway, stiff and tall. His eyes fell upon Gregory. He was indeed furious, but had been crying. He stomped up towards Mycroft, and for a moment, Mycroft felt like he was about to be punched. 

Greg bore his eyes into Mycroft.   
“You… bastard.” Greg breathed dangerously. Mycroft remained silent.   
“How could you? How COULD you?! All this time, Myc. All this fucking time… you knew!”  
“Yes.” Mycroft answered. His voice was cold and devoid of emotion.   
“You lied. You deceived me. You deceived John! You lied to us all! Are you that insensitive that you really don’t give a fuck how others feel? We don’t like being lied to!”

Mycroft lowered his head slightly, and nodded.   
“You don’t do that in a relationship! I get that you have to have secrets for your job, but fucking hell this takes the cake, Mycroft!”  
Mycroft just nodded sullenly again. 

“Was there no point when you thought you should tell us? What… John’s grieving not enough for you? Was MY grieving not enough for you?! What about how depressed I got? What about me trying to kill myself?! Was even THAT not enough to make you come clean?! Why, tell me why, Mycroft, that you thought so little of our suffering to choose not to put and end to it?”

Mycroft wasn’t sure if he should say anything. Greg’s voice was like venom, and he was afraid he would be walking into a trap. 

“STILL got nothing to say?! Fuck, Mycroft.”  
“I… I wanted to.” Mycroft mumbled.   
“What?”  
“I always wanted to tell you. Seeing you suffer, knowing I could stop it, was more difficult than I imagined possible. Lying to you was harder than anything I’d had to do. The guilt tore me up inside. But I love you, I wasn’t going to risk your life…”  
“Do you? Hm? Because this…” Greg thrust his hands around to indicate the situation, “Makes it seem like you don’t.”  
“If you knew, before you were safe… you could have died.”   
“Save it, Mycroft. I'm a detective. I can hide things. You should have told me. You broke my trust, Mycroft… betrayed me more than I thought you ever could.” 

Gregory had stopped yelling, and his voice had changed to ‘hurting’. Each word stabbed Mycroft in his chest, but he refused to show it. He wouldn’t let Gregory see the hurt. Not to spite him… but to make sure he didn’t feel like he had to care for a monster like him. He didn’t deserve any care from this man anymore, not after what he’d done. 

“This is your chance to explain yourself, Mycroft. You get now to explain where I’ll listen. And that’s it.” Greg uttered with that same dangerous voice.   
“No.” Mycroft whispered, his voice threatening to break his façade.   
“WHAT?”  
“There is nothing I can say that would excuse me. I love you with all of my heart, and if it kept you alive, I would do it again. I can’t make better what I’ve done, but I will never stop trying to earn your forgiveness.” Mycroft said carefully and slowly. He was barely keeping it together. 

Greg felt his anger subside. He knew Mycroft thought he was doing the right thing, and sounded guilty over it, but he was still so hurt. So much so, that he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to forgive him. 

“You … cannot… _imagine_ … the hurt I feel right now. I don’t know if I could ever trust you again. And we can’t have a relationship with that between us. This is just…I can’t.”  
Greg was losing control of his emotions that the anger was holding back. Tears were threatening to spill over. He had to get out of there. 

“Gregory…”  
“No. Don’t talk. I… I need some space. Some time, some air… something.” Greg said, turning around and walking back out of the door. 

Mycroft released his hold over himself and let the tears fall. He collapsed to his knees right there in the hall, and lowered his head. He cried. No matter how much he’d tried to prepare for it, it still hurt more than he could have anticipated. There was nothing to stop the pain inside. Gregory was gone, and with him, his heart. It had been ripped out of him, leaving him a broken shell. He toppled over onto his side, grabbing his knees to hold against his chest, and cried harder than he had in a very long time. 


	3. Friends to Lean On

John was still angry. Mary had tried talking to him, and it did help that she was so ok with it all, but he couldn’t stop being angry. But he felt justified in his feelings, and couldn’t understand why no one else was taking the news like he was. Wasn’t it the _normal_ reaction? 

He and Mary had finished dinner, cleaned up, and went straight to bed. John couldn’t stop the thoughts and emotions swirling through his head. He just stared at the ceiling, replaying the past few years of his life. His time with Sherlock, the hurt from his apparent death, and then the healing process since. Except this time, he looked over it bitterly, picturing Sherlock watching over everything that was happening and not caring. 

“You really should talk about it.”

John looked over to Mary, who was eyeing him with concern.   
“I don’t want to.” John replied.   
“Maybe not, but I think you need to.” 

He looked away.   
“I don’t think you could understand the betrayal.” He mumbled.  
“Probably not. But I care about you and will listen.” 

John sighed, and rolled over to face her. He smiled at her.   
“I appreciate that. But I really think I would just get frustrated more than anything because I'd have to explain everything. Maybe sometime soon I’ll be able to tell you about it, but not right now.”  
“That’s ok. I understand, love. You haven’t really spoken about your time with him much before. I know I would find it difficult to pour my heart out about something to someone that doesn’t really know what I’m talking about.”   
“You are amazing.” John said while smiling.   
“Yep.” Mary returned, also smiling. 

John chuckled and kissed her.   
“If only you did know already.” He mused, returning to lay on his back and look once again at the darkened ceiling. 

It was this moment when the doorbell rang. John groaned, putting his hands up to cover his face. Mary petted his arm and then moved to get out of bed.   
“No, it’s ok, I’ll get it.” John grumbled. 

Mary didn’t put up a fight and let her…fiancé?… answer the door. John slipped into some pants that were laying on the floor and slowly moved to the entranceway. He groaned to himself again, hoping against all hope that it wasn’t Sherlock standing there. He opened the door and was met with a pitiful looking Greg Lestrade. 

He looked strained and exhausted, his eyes still red from when he’d been crying and shining from tears, and he looked like he might keel over at any moment.   
“Greg?” John asked, stepping back from the doorway to let the man in.   
“… Can I stay with you tonight?” Greg managed to say, his voice hoarse and broken.   
“Yeah, of course. I only have the couch though, I hope that’s ok.” 

Greg nodded as he stepped in out of the light drizzle. He shuffled in towards the living room and collapsed down on the couch. He felt like he was running on autopilot. His mind was stuck in its own thoughts, and his body was just drifting about. John noticed his distant stare, and recognised it as similar to his own just before. He knew about Sherlock, then. 

John joined the detective on the couch, calling out to Mary that Greg was there. She came into the room to say hello, but quickly read the room and just nodded to John before returning to the bedroom. They sat there in silence for a moment, while John waited for Greg to talk. 

“He knew.” Greg mumbled. 

John’s eyes grew wide as he suddenly realised what was going on. Mycroft had indeed known about Sherlock being alive all this time. While John was still sitting, shouting, with Sherlock, he’d been told that. But he just passed it off as ‘of course Mycroft knew’, and continued with his angry interrogation. However now that he thought about it, Mycroft knowing would be particularly difficult on Greg. He sighed and patted Greg’s damp shoulder. If it wasn’t enough that Sherlock was back after pretending to be dead, but Greg was faced with Mycroft having lied to him all this time. 

“You’re wet, Greg. How long were you standing out there?”  
“I… I lost track.”   
“Well, come on, take off your coat. Hopefully you’re not wet underneath.” John said softly. 

Greg removed his trenchcoat. John took it from him and just tossed it gently onto the ground. Greg looked at John with such turbulent, lost eyes.   
“What am I gonna do, John?”   
“What do you mean?”  
“About Mycroft.”   
“Ah. I… I don’t have an answer for you, I’m sorry. And I don’t think it’s really up to me to decide. Only you know what’s best for you.” 

Greg just looked back to stare at the coffee table.   
“You’re angry.” Greg mumbled.   
“Yeah.”  
“At Sherlock?”  
“Of course at bloody Sherlock.” 

He closed his eyes and slumped forward, putting his arms upon his knees. Of course John was angry at Sherlock. John always did have a temper, and all the hurt and betrayal would just fuel that. Greg however found it all just dragged him back down into that same overwhelmingly cold, dark, depressed place he’d been in not long after Sherlock… _faked_ it. And it wasn’t even because of Sherlock. He couldn’t bring himself to be too upset with the man - he was still just glad that somehow, he’d come back. It was all the trust he’d built up with Mycroft that had been betrayed that had kicked him in the gut. But he had a feeling that John wasn’t going to see him eye to eye on the matter. 

“I’m glad you came here, Greg.” John said.   
“Why? Afraid of what I’d do?”   
“To be honest, a bit actually. All of this shit is more involved for you, and I can’t bloody cope, so I don’t expect you to fare any better. And we both know what happens when you get stuck in that place.”  
“Oh so it’s my fault then?” Greg snapped, annoyed.   
“No, no! I just meant… depression, when it gets bad, stops you thinking rationally… and … I’m sorry.”   
“It’s ok, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just… ergh.” Greg sighed, rubbing his face in his hands.   
“Yeah.” John said absently. It indeed was ‘ergh’. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” John asked.   
“I think you could work that out.”   
“Yeah, but that’s not the same as you telling me. It might help you.”   
“Well, Sherlock’s not dead, my boyfriend whom I was going to propose to knew about it all along, and I’m sleeping on your couch because of confronting him about it.”   
“He kicked you out?”  
“No, I left. Hell, he seemed like he was expecting it. Barely said anything to me, just stared at the god damned floor. I had to shout at him, demanding him to talk, to get anything bloody out of him. And even that wasn’t an explanation, more just apology.” 

John thought for a moment. That was rather uncharacteristic of Mycroft. Normally he needed to be the one doing the talking, the arrogant prick always trying to control everyone and their opinions. It must have been really emotional for him to shut off like that.   
_Now that I think about it, he probably knew this was coming and prepared for it._

“Did you find that better, or worse, than his usual arrogant attitude?”  
“He’s not actually like that much to me.”  
“Oh. Ok, sorry. He’s always a posh ‘better than you’ prick to me.”   
“He was always considerate, sweet and a bit adorably nervous around me. When it was just us. I mean yeah you can’t get rid of that upper class flare, but his personal persona is quite different to his ‘outside world’ persona or heaven forbid, his iceman ‘work’ persona.”

It was obvious in what Greg was saying that he still loved the man deeply. John guessed that’s why he was so conflicted right now - being so hurt and upset, but not being able to stop feeling that love and devotion. John hoped that they would be able to work through it. Greg hadn’t been happier for the whole time John had known him since getting together with Mycroft. As angry as he was about the whole situation - he still hoped it would get better for the two of them. It did put him in a difficult position, though. 

“I know it’s hard, Greg. It’s obvious you still love him, and part of me wants him to see the error of his ways and pull the finger out to start treating you with more respect, because fuck you two are good together.”   
“I don’t want it to end, John, I never did… I just… I don’t know if I can trust him again after all this.”  
“I don’t blame you.”   
“But I can’t have a relationship with that constant fear of being manipulated and lied to.”

John didn’t know what to say. Mycroft wasn’t about to stop lying. It was his job. And he was inherently a control freak, with the power to manipulate people’s lives at will. All he could hope was that he wouldn’t do it to Greg anymore. 

“… He…"  
“He won’t stop, I know, John. I just thought I was the line. That he respected me enough to not pull that shit with me.”  
“I can relate there.” 

Greg turned to look at John. He, too, was drawn and tired. The doctor furrowed his brow and leaned forward to imitate Greg’s pose.

“That bastard lied to me. He stood back and watched me grieve, let me move on, and then comes back large as bloody life as if nothing happened! I mean, what an utter cock!”  
“John…”  
“No, I’ll not calm down. No one else seemed to react to his return like a normal person. I mean, I get things are different for you Greg … but fuck, you can’t tell me that you’re ONLY pissed at Mycroft.”   
“I’ll admit, I’m a little upset with him. Sherlock, that is. Not angry, not … whatever level you’ve taken it to… but just upset. He had his reasons, John.”  
“No bloody reason is good enough for what he did.”   
“Some are.”

John scowled at Greg. He couldn’t get angry at the man, not when he looked so utterly defeated. But he still felt like getting his point across at least.   
“No, I don’t care. I'm not going to listen to his excuses anymore. I’m done.”   
“Done?”  
“Yes, done. He killed our friendship when he killed himself.” 

Greg couldn’t believe what he was hearing. John didn’t want anything to do with Sherlock? Seriously? After everything they went through, and the suffering from the loss… John was actually going to just walk away? 

“John…”  
“No, save it, Greg.”  
“Please listen.” Greg said, sounding so pitiful that John couldn’t help but sigh and turn to face him. 

“Sherlock being alive is that miracle that we’d forgotten we’d asked for. You shouldn’t turn your back on it. No matter what he’s done to you, or the reasons behind it, trust me when I say that you will not be complete until things are resolved between you two. I’m not saying you have to forgive him right away, but at least understand that it wasn’t something he chose to do for fun. And don’t think that he didn’t suffer as well. You lost him once, John, and it almost broke you. Do you really want to lose him again?”

John said nothing in response. He wanted to shout again, but he silenced himself. Greg was indeed right. But he wasn’t ready to admit it.  
“I just want to move on with my life. I can’t go back to those days.”   
“Moving on doesn’t have to exclude him. Let him know it won’t be the same anymore, but don’t cut him out. Honestly, John, it sounds like you don’t want anything to do with him because you’re trying to avoid those difficult emotions. I get that, I do… that’s why I’m here on your couch. But you can’t run forever, and letting him back into your life doesn’t mean the past two years didn’t happen. You have changed, you have Mary, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still spend time with him.”  


John looked at him with a sneer.   
“You two have talked a lot, haven’t you?”  
“We talked a bit, yes. Until I found out about Mycroft. Then I scared the pants off him while driving him to Baker Street before going home.”  
“Hehe. Well, that's something at least.”  
“Yeah. I mean… I was so angry at Mycroft, John. I really was. But now all that anger has just faded and I’m left empty, depressed and confused.”

Greg rubbed his (still wet) hair in frustration.   
“Just… think about it, yeah?”  
“Fine…I will. As long as you do too, Greg.”  
“Huh?”  
“What you said could easily be applied to you and Mycroft as well. Well, most of it at least.”  
“Alright.”

John stood, and said he was going to fetch some blankets for Greg. The conversation had reached a reasonable conclusion, and neither man really felt like dragging it out. John had talked about his feelings enough already - even if he didn’t really say much. It had always been a difficult topic for him, and he was glad that Greg never pushed it. John returned with some bedding and a pillow, and asked if Greg wanted a change of clothes to sleep in. 

Greg declined the offer of pyjamas, not really feeling like being restricted in any of John’s spare clothing. He was smaller than Greg enough for the clothes to not fit. The doctor mentioned that Greg should get out of his wet clothes, and at least didn’t seem to make a fuss with the implied sleeping in underwear. Greg thanked John sincerely, and mentioned that he’d likely be gone in the morning before either of them woke. 

“Goodnight, Greg.”  
“Night, John. Thanks.”


	4. Mycroft's Nightmare

_Mycroft found himself in a room. He looked about, and concluded it was a foyer for an upper class hotel. He walked a few steps towards the collection of sofas on a rug, and then realised it was actually an upper class shopping centre. People appeared all around him; many sat in the chairs with their shopping and chatted away to each other, others walked past him from nowhere and going seemingly also nowhere. He swung around, curious as to why none of them could see him. He was standing right in the walkway of a woman who continued to march straight at him; had he not swerved away, she’d have knocked him over - or possibly, gone right through him. Was he a ghost?_

_“Mycroft.”  
_ _Mycroft looked about and saw John standing there before him, his arms crossed, wearing a red checkered shirt. He tried to speak to respond, but no voice came out. John held up his hand to silence him._

_“You need to get out of here. He’ll find you if you stay here.”_

_Panic filled him as he realised John was right. He was always so vigilant in staying hidden in the shadows, but now he’d come out to where everyone else was - he could be hurt. In fact, he was an easy target. He looked about, unable to see any means of escape… the room continued out towards some shops, like the upper level of a shopping centre, but he just knew that there was no way out from there._

_“I’ll help you, don’t worry.”  
_ _He looked at John thankfully. He tried to ask what to do, where to go, but still he could say nothing. Somehow John seemed to understand him anyway, and nodded towards the elevator._

_They both walked and pressed the up button. Mycroft had never felt more vulnerable without his voice. As they stood in the elevator, it lurching upwards with an almighty clang, Mycroft realised that there was no ‘out’. There was only this building. ‘Out’ was, well, death. The elevator ground to a halt at the second floor. They both walked out, only to find it a fancy business setting._

_Mycroft wanted to ask where they were, but John just shook his head. He wandered over to the large window, facing out to the nothingness._

_“Sherlock’s out there,” John began with a sigh, “And if it weren’t for you, I’d probably be there too. And so would_ he _. It was from here, wasn’t it, Mycroft? Where he jumped?”_

_Mycroft looked down at himself, unable to look at John’s mourning any longer. He still didn’t feel safe where he was. He heard some footsteps approaching from behind him._

_“John, I thought I’d find you here. Although I’m surprised you’re here, Mycroft. You don’t usually spend time in the past, do you?”_

_Whirling around, Mycroft came face to face with Gregory. But he was different… he wasn’t the kind, soft Gregory that he knew. No, this Gregory was hardened and serious. He stood with a permanent frown, his face aged and weathered from the stresses of life. Mycroft tried to utter his name, but became even more disconcerted that he couldn’t say anything._

_“I expected to see you in the present, down on Ground. But, it doesn’t matter. I guess this is where it all started, isn’t it?”  
_ _Mycroft shuffled uncomfortably. What was Gregory talking about? His eyes flicked to John, who was now suddenly at his side. The underlying tones of anger ruffled Mycroft, giving him the uncontrollable urge to run._

_“Greg.”  
_ _“John.”  
_ _“Quite the time we had, here, isn’t it? Why don’t you head on up to Third, I’m sure you’d find that much nicer.”  
_ _“I shouldn’t leave Mycroft here alone.”  
_ _“Oh, but he’s not alone, is he? I’m here, and Sherlock is here…”  
_

_John huffed to himself.  
_ _“Yes, he is isn’t he? I’d almost forgotten. But then, I guess there’s no Sherlock to be seen here, on First or Ground. And so it doesn’t matter that he’s actually there. I don’t want to see him.”  
“Why don’t we get Mycroft to go up to see Molly? What do you think, John?”_

_Before he knew it, Mycroft had found his legs and sprinted back to the elevator. He pressed ‘G’, and willed the doors to close before he was followed. The silver doors slid shut, but before he could feel relieved, the elevator jerked sidewards. The metal box thrust upwards, hurling Mycroft to the floor. It suddenly stopped, shook, and then plummeted. Mycroft screamed, but no sound came out. The elevator halted at the Ground floor, remaining intact, and Mycroft half pulled the doors open in a panic._

_But he was faced with another door - a wooden one, with a silver bar on it to push to open. He did, but was only again faced with a similar door… this one with a red stripe instead of the yellow of the previous. He pushed it open as well, and found yet another door. He charged at it, slamming it open, only to be faced with the first yellow door._

_He clawed at the doors, each one opening only back onto the others. He was trapped and feeling utterly helpless. He was vaguely aware that he was the one that built those doors, as a protection, and he’d somehow allowed himself to be caught on the wrong side. He used his whole body to shove his way through the door before him and was relieved when he was back in the shopping centre foyer._

_Gregory was out for revenge, he knew as much now. Revenge on him. And Mycroft knew, tears falling now, that it was all justified._

_Mycroft gulped and turned on his heels. He eyed the elevator cautiously, thinking about what Gregory had said. The Eighth floor. That’s where he could make it all right again. He knew that Molly Hooper was up there, in the hospital that was the Eighth floor. She could help him - she helped Sherlock, after all._

_The people had disappeared from the area, leaving him entirely alone. The elevator opened, and there stood Gregory in his dark trenchcoat… a depraved look in his eye._

Mycroft jumped in bed, sweat running down his face. He was panting, even though his dream hadn’t had him running. His heart was pounding. It was unusual for him to have such a violent reaction to a dream. 

He sat upright and flicked on the light, and then ran his fingers over his face and through his hair. He recalled the dream, having no trouble remembering the vivid details. That last look Gregory had given him still terrified him, and not much terrified him. It was a little difficult to understand the meaning behind everything, but he resigned himself that not everything had meaning in dreams. 

He swallowed nervously thinking about the desire to go to the Eighth floor. But the thing that was most unsettling for him was the doors. So many doors keeping him trapped inside the elevator. Was that his mental barriers? The only people that seemed to actually see him while in the present were John and Greg. They were the only ones to see beyond his barriers. And it was no secret why Gregory would want revenge. 

His dream was right though: John and Gregory are buddies, and have partnered up against him. It would seem the only person he has left is Sherlock. He laid back down and hugged himself. The words ‘I will always be there for you’ resounded through his mind. He couldn’t help but feel the cost of his commitment was too high this time. 

He never anticipated this.


	5. Morning Chatter

Greg got up at 5am. He folded the bedding, put it at the end of the couch, used the loo, and then left as quietly as he could. It was still dark out, but it had stopped raining overnight. He decided he’d drive to Baker Street. Sherlock was up often enough, and he could spend a bit of time there before going to work. 

The roads were thankfully quiet. Traffic usually started to pick up at six, but before then was still considered the ‘wee hours’… at least it always had been to Greg. It gave him the space to reflect over his conversation with John the night before, and his ‘conversation’ with Mycroft. 

He went to knock on the door, but then thought he’d better not - he didn’t want to wake Mrs Hudson.  
_She’s probably still sleeping, after what was likely a rather difficult night. I guess a tough night for all. I wonder how Mycroft —No, no thinking of him right now._

Greg pulled out his phone to call Sherlock. It was only after he’d pressed dial that he considered that Sherlock wouldn’t have the number anymore, but he continued dialling anyway.   
“Lestrade?”  
“Sherlock? Hey, could you let me in?”  
“Give me a moment.”

Sherlock hung up the phone, and Greg stood outside waiting. He could hear the movement from inside amongst the still of the early morning, and heard the soft footsteps of the detective coming down the stairs. Sherlock unlocked the door and stood aside to let him in.  
“Thanks.” Greg mumbled as he walked in, past Sherlock, and up the stairs. 

The detective followed quietly, noting the emotional distress Lestrade displayed. He had a nagging feeling in his gut that it was also his fault, and that his friend was here to tear into him like John had. 

When he entered the sitting room, he found Greg lying on the couch, his arm over his eyes. So, not here to shout at him, Sherlock thought to himself. It was obvious that Greg had spent the night on someone’s - likely John’s - couch, but he wasn’t sure if he should mention it. 

Sherlock silently stepped past Greg and took his seat. There was a moment of silence between them, one that Sherlock found strangely uncomfortable. 

“Instead of that sofa, stay up in the spare bedroom… since it obviously isn’t John’s anymore.” Sherlock stated out of nowhere to get the conversation going.  
“I… er… alright, thanks. I’ll think about it and let you know.” 

There wasn’t any continuation to the conversation, and so they stayed where they were in silence for some moments. 

“You should go see Anderson.” Greg mumbled, the crook of his elbow still over his face.  
“Why?”  
“You don’t know?” Greg asked, sitting himself more upright, with his arm back on his side.  
“Know what?”  
“He… He had a breakdown, believing that you’d faked it. Obsessed with finding things you’d been doing over the world, plotting those events out on a map, and constantly coming up with theories as to how you did it. He even started a little club about it all.”   
“…Oh. Was not expecting that. Maybe I’ll surprise him. Or just let the cat out of the bag and see if he notices.”  
“Yeah, well, people can surprise you.”  
“Obviously.” Sherlock stated, unimpressed.  


Greg got the hint that he was referring to John. He didn’t like that Sherlock was always thinking of John - but knew the man couldn’t help it. While Sherlock had been Greg’s best friend before and after the detective meeting and living with John, the doctor had quickly become Sherlock’s best friend. Greg sneered inwardly at himself, chiding that it was all so immature to think like that. 

“You know John has quite the temper. You didn’t factor that in at all?”   
“No. I would have thought he’d be glad to see me… like you.”  
“Yeah well, I think he secretly is. But the hurt of betrayal is difficult to overcome.”  


Sherlock eyed Greg for a moment, aware that he was suddenly referring to Mycroft. 

“And do you think such a betrayal is possible to forgive?”  
“I… I don’t know, Sherlock. I guess that’s up to you now.”  


Greg wasn’t really in much of a mood to talk about Mycroft to Sherlock. It was no secret that the brothers preferred to behave hostile towards each other to avoid ‘complicated emotions’. He did want Sherlock to try make amends with John though, and their situation was inherently different to his and Mycroft’s. 

The silence dragged on for almost half and hour following Greg’s statement. He knew Sherlock was thinking it all over, and was used to the man taking long pauses so it didn’t bother him. If anything, he found himself drifting off to sleep. He was roused by Sherlock suddenly standing and grabbing his phone from the desk. Greg was silent as Sherlock made the phone call. 

“John…” Sherlock began hesitantly. Greg could tell the minute wince he made upon hearing John’s reaction.  
“Please… I’m sorry… No… I, I just… No, John, I need you.” 

Sherlock frowned and lowered the phone from his ear, putting it back on the table. Greg eyed him suspiciously, wanting an explanation.  
“He, er… he doesn’t want to see me.”  
“What did he say, exactly?”  
“Fuck off.” 

Greg nodded silently. John was still very pissed. He wanted to say something to comfort Sherlock, since it was obviously distressing him, but kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing, and knew that attempting to get involved would likely make Sherlock explode with snide defensive remarks of which Greg didn’t feel up to dealing with. He sighed deeply. 

“I’d better get to work soon.”  
“You… you don’t have to go so soon.” 

Greg froze his movements to look at Sherlock. It was as close to begging for him to stay as he’d heard. It was true, he really didn’t need to go into the office this early. He just wanted something to distract himself with. But hearing that tone in Sherlock’s voice made him want to stay. 

“There’s nothing I can do, Sherlock. I’ve tried talking to him…it’ll just take time. It’s the only thing that helped last time.”  
“Last time?”  
“When you jumped. He was so angry at us all, Mycroft and me, that he behaved much the same. Angry, shutting us out, blaming us for what we’d done. Except Mycroft refused to leave him alone and forced him to attend appointments, and I basically took care of everything else. Didn’t Mycroft tell you?”  
“No. Mycroft didn’t explain much to me. There was a file about John with a few notes in it, but that was it. I had expected a run down of all the things he’d been doing, like he normally likes to brag about his power and control or whatever he does it for. But he was distracted by something. It was taking all of his faculties to maintain that persona he keeps.”

Greg was surprised that Mycroft hadn’t told anything that had happened while Sherlock was away. His stomach dropped when he realised that that meant Sherlock didn’t know about his … suicide attempt. It seemed like it was going to come up at some point, and he felt he should be the one to tell him… but he didn’t really want to bring it up. 

“Thank you, Greg.”   
“For what?”  
“For taking care of him. Considering everything happening in your life before I left, I would imagine it was a particularly difficult period for you.”

Greg just nodded. He sat upright and leant forward on his elbows.   
“Things are going to be shit for a while, Sherlock.”   
“Apparently. But unfortunately, we don’t have time for it.”   
“What are you talking about?”  
“The terror threat I talked about. It’s imminent. I need John’s help with it.”   
“You might have to manage with just me for a while, mate. It’ll be alright, just like how it was before John.”  
“But… I don’t want that.” Sherlock breathed, almost as if he didn’t mean to say it. 

Ignoring the painful stab in his gut from thinking he wasn’t good enough for Sherlock anymore, Greg stood up and walked over to Sherlock. He hugged him again, possibly more because he wanted a hug than Sherlock needed one, and then looked him squarely in the eyes. 

“Things are what they are. We’ll just have to make do, ok? But I’m here for you, mate. Always.” 

Sherlock looked down and nodded, much like an upset child. He took a deep breath and stood up tall.   
“You’re right. Thank you. I’ll just have to focus on this terror plot, and try not think of John.”   
“Good. And listen, I have a case that you might like to help with later on? Just once you’ve gotten bored or stuck with this terror plot. Might be good to get out and do something else for a while.”  
“Thank you, Graham.” Sherlock said, a smile pursing his lips. Greg chuckled and punched him in the arm. He feigned pain, rubbing the spot, but then gave a contented sigh. 

“I’ll see you soon, Sherlock.”   
“Yeah. Oh and Lestrade?”  


Greg stopped in the hallway, and turned around to look at Sherlock. 

“What was it that made John forgive you?”

Greg sighed and gripped the frame of the doorway. He looked at the floor, and slowly brought his gaze up to meet Sherlock’s inquisitive stare.  
“He said he forgave me when he moved out, getting a place and a job… a new life to focus on. But he didn’t really, it was just an escape. It wasn’t until … the threat of death was involved that he actually truly forgave me for my part in it all, and Mycroft’s, and stopped being angry.” 

Greg felt Sherlock’s observing gaze deducing enough about the scenario to forgo the need for him to explain what he meant. He noted the flash of understanding that darted across Sherlock’s pale face, the quiet shock in his eyes. Greg said nothing more, and slid his way out of the flat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I just wanted to take the opportunity to thank everyone for their comments. This series has really been a coping mechanism for me for stuff, and now that things are particularly difficult, I've found all the support for the story invaluable. Truly, thank you to everyone that comments, especially my lovely regular commenters. It matters a lot to me.


	6. Mycroft Seeks Company

**** Mycroft hadn’t been able to get back to sleep since his nightmare. His mind was running in circles, threatening to trip him up. He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t block out the emotions radiating from his chest, he couldn’t just put it all in the dark recesses of his mind and continue on with his job. His work was everything to him, and now he’d caused a problem that was threatening to interfere with his ability to carry out that work. 

Gregory invaded all of his thoughts. He’d been the one to let down his defences, he’d willingly come out of his shell to take a chance at feeling something for once.   
_Stupid, stupid._

He knew Sherlock was going to come back at some point, he knew that would be difficult for Gregory, and he knew that his deception would be a breaking point for any relationship developed in that time. But did he listen? No. He’d barely registered thinking those thoughts, too preoccupied in warm feelings of love for Gregory. He growled at himself for being so idiotic. And yet … no matter how many times he uttered his mantra ‘caring is not an advantage’… he couldn’t stop feeling love, and the hurt from Gregory’s departure. Emotions seemed a lot easier to handle, shallower, before that man stepped into his life. And he hated that despite the pain he felt, he didn’t regret it. In fact, he still yearned for him.

Mycroft dressed himself in one of his usual three piece suits. He’d already called in to take some time off; not uncontactable, but some time away from the office, while he tried to get a grip over himself. He found that he just couldn’t seem to gather the strength to maintain his uncaring, unfeeling façade enough to go into work. Not when he was very not ‘unfeeling’. 

And so Mycroft found himself en route to Baker Street. He knew Sherlock would likely cause a fuss about his visit, and that he’d be able to see through him fairly well, but he just needed the company. He couldn’t handle being in his flat, not with Gregory’s things everywhere. And he just … didn’t want to be alone. He hated himself for it, since he’d been perfectly fine being alone before Gregory. But it seemed to be a ‘finally know what you’ve been missing’ situation. He wanted so much to go back to how he was before, but somehow knew that was an impossibility. 

He let himself in to the flat, and walked into the living room. Sherlock had been busy collecting photographs and information regarding the terror plot, and as a result, the place looked more chaotic than usual. Sherlock walked past Mycroft standing in the doorway, not even looking at him to acknowledge his presence. Mycroft felt an unwelcome pang of hurt from being ignored. 

“Do take a seat, brother.” Sherlock rumbled, while looking at the things he’d attached to the wall.   
Mycroft walked in and sat in Sherlock’s chair, not bothering to straighten himself up afterwards.   
“How are you progressing with the plot, brother mine? I see you have let the world know that you are back. Seriously, what part of ‘secret’ did you not understand?” Mycroft asked.   
Sherlock turned to look at him incredulously, as if Mycroft should have deduced exactly how far he’d gotten already.   
“I have only just started, and what does it matter if the world knows? I _am_ back. You obviously are aware of my progress, and so what is the real reason for your visit?”

Mycroft swallowed gently. Always direct to the point.   
“I wanted to see how you were settling in, little brother. It was quite the shock to suddenly return, after all.”   
“You can save the air of superiority, Mycroft. You’re really not doing it justice today.” 

_So, Sherlock can tell something’s up. Great. I don’t really want to get into it all right now._

“Is there something you want to talk about, Mycroft?”

Mycroft didn’t answer right away. No, there wasn’t anything he wanted to talk about. But he did want to talk. He did want to ask about Gregory, as it was obvious Sherlock had spoken with him. He wanted more information, as always, but was afraid to ask. A rarity, in his life.

“Oh, so there is. And what is it that has you speechless, brother?” Sherlock quipped. He decided that it was better to try and get Mycroft to admit about his relationship rather than just talk about it.   
“Nothing that concerns you.” Mycroft snapped back instinctively.  
Sherlock turned to look his brother in the eye, and smiled knowingly.   
“Is that so?” He responded in his deep baritone. 

Mycroft shifted in the chair.   
“The terror strike, Sherlock. Just focus on that.”  
“This plot seems to be something you’re obsessing over, Mycroft. More so than need be. Don’t think it’s escaped my attention that you’re using it to cover up more personal matters for you.”   
“I am not about to start discussing my personal life with you, dear brother.”  
“Oh, well, you have one now at least. When was the last time? When you were sixteen?”

Sherlock smirked and returned to pinning information back up on the wall while Mycroft scowled. He was starting to regret is impromptu visit to Baker Street. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave - where would he go then? It was still too risky to go into his office this… _unstable._

“I’m sorry.”  
Mycroft frowned. Sherlock… apologising? He must really be showing his emotions for that to happen. He wasn’t upset about it, strangely enough. Instead, he was overwhelmed with affection for his brother. 

Sherlock turned from the wall and sat down on the couch. They sat in silence for a moment, both understanding the unspoken distress in the room emanating from Mycroft. Sherlock wanted to be supportive, but knew he wasn’t the best at doing so. He also didn’t want to just bring up Lestrade. 

And so, he settled for the distraction Mycroft kept using as a shield. He began to tell him about what it was he was doing, describing the people he used as indicators. Informing his brother about why these people, ‘rats’ as he would call them, were important to his investigation. Before long, he had a large portion of the wall covered and marked. 

Since there was no further information to present, and it was obvious that Mycroft still was unwilling to be alone or go to work, he challenged his brother to a game of chess. Mycroft never could resist a chance to prove how smart he was. It was at least a good opportunity to get him to talk. 

Mycroft didn’t miss the various hints Sherlock had laid down, but refused to give in. He wasn’t sure his brother knew what was bothering him, and so continued focusing on the underground network threat. That was, until, he found himself playing ‘operation’. 

“Can’t handle a broken heart. How very telling.” Sherlock quipped, fishing for more information.   
“Don’t be smart.” Mycroft grumbled, not enjoying the fact that Sherlock had known about his failed relationship all along. His stomach dropped and he felt a painful twisting in his chest at the thought of Gregory, and his brother’s mention of a ‘broken heart’. He couldn’t break down in front of his little brother. He had to turn the conversation back onto Sherlock somehow.

“That takes me back. ‘Don’t be smart, Sherlock, I’m the smart one’.” Sherlock said in his teasing voice. He was hoping to get Mycroft angry enough to open up; because, honestly, he wanted to help. Perhaps it was more for Lestrade’s sake than his brother’s, but he did care. 

“I _am_ the smart one.” Mycroft growled. He didn’t like his little brother prying on his personal life. He enjoyed talking about Sherlock being an idiot, and found a way to turn the conversation in his favour. 

“‘Friends’. Of course, you go in for that sort of thing now.” Mycroft said with a sneer. He knew it wasn’t exactly kind, but for some reason, pointing out Sherlock’s friendship issues with John made him feel better about his failings with Gregory.   
“And you don’t? Ever?”   
“If you seem slow to me, Sherlock, can you imagine what real people are like? I’m living in a world of goldfish.” 

_Yes, that should suffice to keep him off my case.  
_ Mycroft felt pleased with himself, until Sherlock raised his hands in his usual ‘thinking’ pose. He suddenly felt like he’d walked right into a trap.   
“Yes, but I’ve been away for two years.”  
“So?”  
“Oh I don’t know, I thought perhaps you might have found yourself a goldfish.”

_No, I can’t do it.  
_ “Change the subject. Now.” Mycroft said forcefully, all the while knowing that his brother would understand exactly why. He stood up and walked to the mantle, unwilling to look Sherlock in the eye in fear of what he would see. 

The pain Mycroft showed in that moment made Sherlock back off. He wasn’t all too thrilled to push the issue in the first place, but seeing how it was affecting his usually detached, stoic, uncaring brother made him reconsider his tactics.  
_Back to the terror plot, then. For now._

Sherlock assured Mycroft that he’d solve the case. Mrs Hudson came in, a welcomed interruption. Interestingly, Mycroft didn’t decide to leave at that moment. That gave Sherlock new energy to continue prodding his brother for Greg’s (and his own) sake. However this time, he decided to appeal to his brother’s desire to be ‘the best’.

Mycroft didn’t miss the hint at being gay, or the forced isolation he had always put himself in. He tried to remark that he wasn’t isolated, just different - much like the owner of the Chullo, but Sherlock didn’t seem to be buying it. And then it was suddenly back on him… and Mycroft was stunned. What was he to say? Was it worth continuing his charade?

“I’m not lonely, Sherlock!” Mycroft exclaimed, realising it was much too forced. Sherlock smiled and looked at him sternly.   
“How would you know?” Sherlock challenged. 

Mycroft felt the panic rising through his chest. He… he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to get out. How could he even begin to try making things right? There was no way, not after what he’d done. And it was easier to try distance himself than to continue experiencing the pain of the hole Gregory had left. 

He left the flat with a dazed ‘good morning’, no longer caring what Sherlock thought of him. But he couldn’t stop himself from thinking.  
_Why was he so interested? Had perhaps Gregory said something to him? Maybe Gregory wasn’t as done with me as he made out, and Sherlock was trying to get me to try talking to him? Was it possible?_

His heart lurched as he thought that perhaps Gregory had asked Sherlock to get him to contact him. It seemed that the hope for what he still wanted, deep down, was a lot stronger than the part of himself trying to just block it all out and move on like nothing happened.


	7. A Deal

Greg flipped through files on his desk. He’d been given new cases since he’d finished up with the Sherlock ones. And, surprisingly, he’d been given praise from his superiors for his diligence. Even more surprisingly, they’d apologised to him for their behaviour towards him, and had even permitted him to continue consulting Sherlock in some (mostly pre-approved) cases. 

It was a better outcome than Greg had hoped for. But he couldn’t bring himself to feel happy about it. He didn’t seem to be able to feel happy about anything. Anderson, however, was quite the opposite. He’d been celebrating all day thus far. He’d brag to anyone who would listen that he was right, and then spout off his latest theory to everyone about how Sherlock had faked it. Greg did wonder just how close Anderson had gotten with his theories, but it was a passing interest. He was still too distracted with his own things. 

He would need to go back to the flat he shared with Mycroft to get some things enough to stay with Sherlock. He also would have to ask John if it was ok, since he’d be staying in John’s old room. Greg didn’t think he’d mind that part, but didn’t doubt that there would be some resentment that Greg was electing to stay with Sherlock while John wanted to just move on. 

“Lestrade!” Anderson joyously exclaimed as he entered Greg’s office.   
“Hey there Anderson.” Greg mumbled.   
“Why so down? Sherlock’s alive!” 

Anderson threw himself into the chair across from Greg’s desk with a smile on his face. If Greg didn’t know better, he’d say he was drunk.   
“Yeah, it’s great.”   
“Apology accepted, by the way.” Anderson beamed.   
“What apology?”  
“The one you were about to give me. Since I was right all along and all.”  
“I … I wasn’t going to … Anderson, most of my telling you Sherlock was dead was because of your inability to manage your obsession. I don’t have anything to apologise to you for.”

Anderson gave him a frown.   
“But I was right. And I’d bet that I was right about how he did it, too. Can you get him to come and see me?”  
“I asked him. He didn’t say yes or no yet.”  
“Ask again?”

Greg eyed Anderson carefully for the first time that day. He was overjoyed, obviously, but seemed more like he was having a manic episode than anything. It did not appease his concerns for the man’s mental health.   
“Alright, I’ll ask him next time I see him.” 

Anderson smiled and nodded, before jumping back out of the chair and bounding down the office hallway. 

~ 

All the while watching Sherlock solve the skeleton mystery case, Greg felt concern for his friend. He didn’t know if he was supposed to say anything about the constant talking to John, despite him not being present. It was obvious that he wasn’t handling John’s reaction very well. 

In a way it had been like old times; Sherlock looking about intensely, then describing things in an arrogant and yet slightly distracted tone, whirling about, and then abruptly leaving. 

Greg had tried to be supporting like John had been, but it was difficult. Sherlock wasn’t interested in his niceties from the start, and so Greg had remained quiet. He did prod a little, asking about Molly’s presence, but Sherlock seemed too hurt to discuss John’s involvement, or lack there of, any further. He didn’t even want to reveal the solution to begin with. It had only been after Greg requested that he fumbled to give the answer. 

“Is he alright?” Molly asked after watching Sherlock swirl away.   
“No, I don’t think so.”   
“Can we help?”  


Greg sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck.  
“I honestly don’t know. I think John’s the only one that can do anything for him at this point.”   
“What happened between them, do you know?”  
“Sherlock interrupted John’s proposal, John attacked him, and has refused to talk to him since. He tried calling John this morning, but was just told to ‘fuck off’, and so you can understand why he’s not really himself.”   
“God… I had no idea John could be so…”  
“Yeah, well, John’s angry. He feels betrayed. And I think he’s trying to push Sherlock away to have this ‘new life’ without him in it just to avoid the pain.” 

Molly nodded, and then uttered that she’d better follow Sherlock to keep an eye on him. Greg watched as she scampered out from the chamber. He sighed again to himself. Molly had known, Sherlock told him as much. Greg was actually surprised Molly had managed to keep it a secret, but then guessed that was the reason neither he nor John had seen much of her since Sherlock’s jump. 

Greg pulled out his phone while leaving. He wasn’t sure if John would be willing to meet up, but he really felt like he should try talk to him again. 

“John?”  
“Greg, hi.”  
“Listen, you free for a pint?”  
“Yeah, when?”  
“Um, now?”  
“Sure, usual place?”  
“Yeah, I’ll see you there.” 

_Well, that was much easier than I imagined. I guess the offer of a pint was helpful in convincing him… no doubt it’s been a tough day for him as well._

It was only ten minutes later that Greg was sitting by the window in their local pub. He’d already ordered a beer for himself, and had managed to drink half of it before John walked in the door. Greg had been right: he looked like he’d had a rough day. 

John nodded to him, went to the bar to get a pint, and came and joined him.   
“How was your day, mate?” Greg asked. John groaned.  
“Bloody terrible. I couldn’t get Sherlock out of my head, and then I shouted at a patient.”  
“God, really? Why?”  
“I thought he was Sherlock in disguise. An old man with an accent and sunglasses. I even went as far as pulling off his hat… and it was only when I saw the balding hair that I realised my mistake.”  
“Damn, that sounds pretty bad.”  
“Jesus, yes. I’ll be lucky not to be strung up for malpractice or something. I just gotta hope he doesn’t say anything.”   
“I think you’d be fine in that regard, I mean… you didn’t do anything medically wrong to him. And the clinic knows you’ve got stuff going on. Try to relax about it mate.”

John took a long swig from his beer. He nodded.   
“Yeah, thanks. What about you? You were up pretty early.”   
“Yeah, I didn’t wake you did I?”  
“Nah, we were still sound asleep. What did you do at that hour?”  
“I .. er.. went to see Sherlock, actually.”

John stiffened in his chair.   
“Right.”

Greg finished off his drink before continuing.   
“Listen… he offered your old room to me until I find somewhere.”  
“Oh.”  
“I just wanted to see if you were ok with that before I said ok.”  
“I… I don’t know what to say, Greg. I don’t care that you’re in that room, since I haven’t thought of it as ‘mine’ for a long time. I do care that you’re not pissed at him for what he did; he can’t think that he’s gotten away with it so easily.”  
“He… he did it for us, John. You can’t hold that against him forever.”  
“Yeah, well, Mycroft hid it from you for us too, you know. If we showed that we ‘knew’ or whatever, we’d have been killed or so I’m told. Can you just forgive Mycroft that easily?”

Greg didn’t respond, but shuffled the glass uncomfortably between his hands.   
“He’d not doing well without you, you know.” Greg mumbled.   
“And how’s that?” John snapped, clearly not interested in feeling any sympathy for Sherlock.   
“I took him on the skeleton case today. He kept talking to you, like you were there commenting. I’m sure it was all in his head, and knew he couldn’t actually hear you, but I’m concerned for him.”

John sighed deeply. Honestly, he had expected Sherlock to not care about his absence. He seemed to not care about John at all in their last encounter.   
“What do you want from me, Greg?”  
“I… I just want you to go to him, listen to his side of the story. I mean, I don’t know what’s in your head, but I don’t think you understand just what he went through while away. After I found out just a little, I couldn’t be angry with him. I wasn’t, really, to start with, but I just felt… I don’t know. Please, just go listen to him. Tell him things aren’t going to be the same, that you have this life now, but don’t cut him out entirely.”  
“Fine, I’ll go listen. But I make no promises about including him in my life anymore.”

Greg smiled with relief at hearing those words, but John gave him a sly smile that made him pause.

“Only… if you go and listen to Mycroft.”  
“What?”  
“You heard me. I’ll go listen to Sherlock’s side of it all if you go and talk with Mycroft.”  
“What does my talking with Mycroft have to do with anything?”  
“You’re clearly not ok with what he did, and I think it’s best to go and talk with him before moving out. You both had something special, and you shouldn’t be so quick to throw that away.”  
“I’m not… yeah ok, it would look like I’m moving out to him.” Greg said begrudgingly.   
“So… do we have a deal?”

Greg took a deep breath and agreed. He knew he couldn’t ask something of John he wasn’t willing to go do himself. John smiled, finished the remainder of his pint, and then stood. 

“You going to go now?” Greg asked apprehensively.   
“Might as well. I think it’s best to just get this over with before I change my mind.” John grumbled.   
“Ah…alright, good… good. I’ll er, go … go find Mycroft, then.” 

Greg was panicked that he was suddenly about to go talk to Mycroft again. He hadn’t expected John to want him to do so at all, let alone as a condition of him talking to Sherlock. Nor had he assumed it would be so soon. Greg swallowed and followed John out of the pub; John decided to walk to Baker Street, as it wasn’t far, and Greg took a taxi back to his/Mycroft’s flat.


	8. Honesty

Greg timidly put the keys in the lock, and opened the door. He didn’t know if he’d find Mycroft there or not. It was likely the man was staying late at work to try avoid encountering him. The house was in disarray; the blanket in the living room was flung over the table, one of the cushions was in the hallway, and the other appeared to be on the kitchen bench. Greg noticed that the covers on his bed were crinkled up in a big pile, not the way he’d left it, and his fluffy pillow was missing. 

It seemed clear that Mycroft hadn’t handled his departure very well. He walked into the bedroom and sat on the bed. He might as well use the time until Mycroft arrived to think about what he was going to say. He didn’t know what Mycroft would say - he’d been surprised enough at Mycroft’s conceding behaviour to be unassured as to what to expect next. 

_What do I say when he walks in? ‘Mycroft we need to talk?’ That’s too cliché.  
_ Greg started to feel the anxiety rise up his throat. He breathed deep and tried to decide to just see how things went. Best to not prepare too much and just go by instinct/feelings. 

It was nearly an hour before Mycroft arrived. He walked through the door, froze upon sensing a presence, and then walked forward, gripping his umbrella.   
“Relax, it’s me, Mycroft. I’m not going to hurt you.” Greg stated bluntly, as he stood from the bed.   
“Is that so?” Mycroft sneered, but then regretted speaking. Greg frowned at him.   
“I’m here to listen to your side of the story, Mycroft. Without the anger.”  
“I thought you said I only had that chance last night.”  
“Are you … deliberately trying to get me mad again?” 

Mycroft shied away and looked to the floor.   
“I’m sorry.” He muttered quietly. “Why don’t we sit at the table?”   
Greg nodded in agreement and followed Mycroft to the table. They sat in their usual seats across from each other, pushing the blanket to the floor. 

“I want you to tell me everything, Mycroft. I have to know why you helped Sherlock fake his suicide, I want to know how you were involved. I want to know why you had to keep it all a secret from me. And you have to tell me how you felt about it all. I want to know where you went disappearing to, and why, the other night. Everything.”  
Greg was firm with his demands, sitting at the table much like many of his police interviews. Mycroft paled slightly, but realised Greg’s serious tone, and so braced himself for a difficult retelling. 

“This will not be easy.” Mycroft stated, purposefully leaving it ambiguous. It definitely was not going to be easy to talk about, especially his feelings, but it was no doubt going to be difficult to hear as well.  
“You might be aware that some of what you are about to hear is classified as top secret, and must not be repeated under any circumstance.”   
“Obviously, Mycroft.” Greg grunted impatiently.   
“Right. Of course. Well… I guess it started when we captured Moriarty…” 

Mycroft found that once he started, it was fairly easy to continue. He felt relief confiding in Gregory from the moment he mentioned Moriarty. He’d not been able to talk about this in such a long time, to anyone, and so suddenly was unable to stop himself. He poured everything out, entirely and honestly. 

He wasn’t going to let this opportunity slip past to rectify things with Gregory. Ever since leaving Sherlock’s flat he’d been thinking about it all day: making amends. Deciding to stop fighting himself to gain control over the turmoil that was his emotions, to stop trying to be the man he was before Gregory. He was happy for once in his life, and that happiness hadn’t interfered with his work. It was losing that happiness that had seemingly crippled him. And so instead of trying to be a man that got by without a leg again after losing his prosthetic, he was going to fight to get that prosthetic back. 

Greg listened patiently and intently. He nodded in parts, frowned in others, and occasionally asked questions. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it hadn’t been this. It was very in depth, honest, and emotional. He tried to remain objective, but he couldn’t help but feel the pain along with Mycroft. 

Mycroft talked about how close he’d come to telling Gregory about Sherlock while on the phone with him that fateful night. How he’d wrestled himself not to let anything slip since. How he spent so many night hating himself for being such a monster to Gregory, but not once relenting lest injury or death befell him. He talked of how happy he had been, and how some days he wasn’t reminded of the guilt. Mycroft even said how he felt undeserving of Gregory’s affections because of his deception. How he’d ignored the voices in his head telling him that he was taking advantage; and how he was setting himself up for hurt, since Gregory would undoubtedly never want to talk to him again once Sherlock came back. And how he believed he deserved it, but didn’t care as long as Gregory was safe and happy. 

He spoke of Sherlock disappearing that night they had dinner, and how worried he had been and yet unable to do anything. Greg cast his mind back to the night in question, and suddenly it all made a lot of sense. He didn’t regret the things that happened following dinner, especially not when Mycroft talked of how important it had been for him - that someone cared for his wellbeing without agenda or demands for information first. He then said the helplessness he’d felt then, and the feeling like he’d broken his promise to take care of Sherlock, led him to immediately go out looking for his brother when he was captured a few days ago. 

Greg listened with worry as Mycroft talked of going undercover, of being entirely alone while attempting to locate Sherlock and work his way up the ranks in order to find him. How any slip up would have resulted in instant death; but his determination to get his brother, and himself, home safe had urged him on. He’d had to watch Sherlock be tortured, and act like it meant nothing to him. Mycroft apologised for not contacting Greg immediately after returning, but he had needed some time to cope with what he’d witnessed before being able to handle the impending difficulty between them. 

He then went into further detail than expected about Sherlock; talking about his brother’s drug addiction, the times he’d found Sherlock overdosed and alone, the vow he’d made to always watch over his little brother and always be there for him. Greg hadn’t heard Mycroft talk like that about the drugs before. Even in their earlier association, when Greg was helping Sherlock get clean, Mycroft had always behaved like the unimpressed older brother embarrassed over his sibling’s shortcomings. There had been moments, of course, when Greg had witnessed Mycroft Holmes in a panic or utterly lost in grief … but they had been brief and fleeting before the mask had been put back in place. He’d never heard of the first time Mycroft found Sherlock, on the brink of death from overdose. 

Mycroft began to talk of something regarding an incident of Sherlock’s drug past when he choked on his words. Mycroft looked uncertain if he should continue or not.   
“This isn’t related to your actions, Mycroft. You don’t have to tell me about this right now.”  
“I want you to know, Gregory. And I am afraid that if I do not tell you now, I may not gather the courage to do so at another time.” 

Greg nodded, feeling rather overwhelmed already. It had been a lot to take in. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting there, but it had had to have been over an hour. 

“It was eight years ago. Not long after you’d met Sherlock for the first time. You’d found him before I had. I was so immensely grateful that you had saved him. I know that he wouldn’t have survived had you not acted quickly.”  
“Yes, I remember. It had only been a few month since the sauna case. He’d kept popping up at my crime scenes - I was beginning to think he was stalking me. Well, until you kidnapped me, at least.”  
“Heh, yes. You looked like you were ready to clobber me.”  
“I was.”  
“Well, you passed the test with flying colours… even if you had, it wouldn’t have changed that.”  
“Right. Well… suddenly, he just stopped showing up. He looked like user all that time, and so I just knew he was out of it somewhere. I hadn’t expected to find him so soon.”   
“But you did. Before I had managed. He’d spoken of you a lot, if you didn’t know.”  
“Really?”  
“Oh yes, of the great Lestrade that let him work on cases and gave meaning to his life.”  
“I never realised…”  
“No, he wouldn’t tell you that. But he did say it, trust me.” Mycroft said heavily, as if baring a deep dark part of his soul he’d not shared with anyone.

“As I stood over his bed, realising that I almost lost him and if it weren’t for you, I would have… I felt completely useless. I failed him, and I would never be able to forgive myself for it. I had been having a lot of difficulty in my job; a job I started to take care of my family, and that job had not only failed in saving Sherlock, but had been a big part of the reason I missed finding him. 

“I wanted to quit. I’d dedicated so much of myself to that job, to being that person… and for what? I’d lost Sherlock anyway. And then I find that the person that ‘gave him meaning in life’ had been the one to save him. I felt completely worthless. He had woken enough to tell me that it was a mistake, and that he was going to try go clean with your help, Gregory. In mere months you had succeeded where I had failed for years. 

“Where Sherlock found his purpose, and a fight to better his life, I had lost mine. And so I stood over him and said my goodbyes while he slept, and left with no intention to see him again. You may not remember, but I passed you on my way out. I wanted to feel resentment towards you… but I couldn’t. All I could think of how wonderful you were and how lucky Sherlock was to have you in his life. I said to you, ‘take care of him, Lestrade’, before leaving the ward.”

“I do remember that, Mycroft.” Greg whispered. He wasn’t sure exactly where this story was going, but it was clearly something traumatic for Mycroft.   
“Good, I’m glad to have made such an impression.” Mycroft sighed, seemingly tired from talking thus far. He didn’t continue the story.   
“And?”  
“And what?”  
“Well, you obviously did see Sherlock again, so what happened?”

Mycroft looked at Greg, and Greg felt stunned. It was like he was seeing into the man’s soul - something he’d never thought he could see with Mycroft. 

“I tidied my affairs, and then prepared to end my life.”

Greg felt a wave of cold wash over him. He was speechless… but his face obviously invited further explanation.

“It was evening by the time I decided how I would do it, and so I ended up needing one more night. In the morning I went out to the store and purchased the items I required, came home, and prepared what I needed to.”  
“Jesus, Mycroft… What did you do?”  
“I …I purchased a number of batteries, nine volts, and then constructed a circuit. I intended to place the electrodes into incisions in my skin to allow the current to pass across my heart. It was easy enough to calculate the resistance of my body and thus the voltage I required to get the correct amperage of current to pass through the cardiac muscle. It was quick, fairly painless… and it seemed appropriate.”

Greg had paled slightly upon hearing it. He never thought Mycroft to be one for suicidal _thoughts_ let alone _attempts_. He was beginning to realise that Mycroft actually did know what he was doing when helping Greg back from his own attempt, and knew of the inner demons one faced. 

“What happened?”  
“Well… obviously I didn’t succeed in that either. In actual fact, you called me as I was preparing myself.”  
“What?”  
“Indeed. It was when you were asking permission to aid Sherlock in recovering from his overdose, and to oversee his rehabilitation. I was more than happy to give you full control of the situation; as I was no longer going to be around to do so, and I trusted you implicitly. But then you asked me to help you. You said you needed me. Your words, ‘I can’t do this without you’ have remained with me to this day, Gregory. You gave me a purpose again, and even though you didn’t realise it, you saved my life. It was a particularly dark period for me. The determination you gave me to stick around got me through until other aspects improved.”

“That’s … unbelievable.” Greg uttered in disbelief.   
“I assure you it is true.”  
“But for me to save you… and then for you to save me, and then end up in a relationship… it’s … it’s a hell of a coincidence.” Greg stated suspiciously.  
“The universe is rarely so lazy.” Mycroft said with a hopeful grin. 

“You may be saying Sherlock is a miracle, dear Gregory, but you have always been mine.” 


	9. John's Turn

Greg’s phone rang. He was broken out of his shocked stated by the ringtone blaring out into the silence. He looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Mary.   
“I’d better take this.” Greg stated, answering. 

“Hello?”  
“Hi Greg, It’s Mary. Listen, is John still with you?”  
“No, why would he be?”  
“Oh, it’s just that he said he was going to meet you at the pub after work, but he isn’t home yet. It’s getting late and I was just wondering if you were still out together.”   
“No, we’re not. We were only there for about half a hour. John left to go speak to Sherlock.”  
“Oh, that’s good then…still, it’s been a long time. Maybe it’s not so good?”  
“I wouldn’t worry too much, Mary. Sherlock sometimes just fazes out for hours at a time, or John could still be ranting at him.”  
“Yeah… still, I’ll go over and make sure things are ok. Thanks, Greg.”  
“Not a problem. Let me know how it goes, yeah?” Greg stated as he hung up the phone. 

He returned his attention to Mycroft. The man sat there, looking more vulnerable than ever. But Greg didn’t know what to do or say. Everything was still running circles in his head.  
“Mycroft, I need some time to think about all of this, ok?” Greg stated, and he saw him drop in disappointment.   
“No, that doesn’t mean that I am wanting to end things or split up or whatever. It just means that: I need some time to think. I’m not angry at you anymore, but I still feel hurt. I understand it all a lot better, now, but I still need the space to get it all to make sense in my head first, alright?”  
“I… I understand, Gregory.” Mycroft said, sounding utterly defeated. He closed his eyes, and straightened himself up. 

“Please take all the time you need. I’m sure you realise that I will, of course, wait for you. There was never anyone else, Gregory. And I believe there never will be.”   
“Don’t… Mycroft, just don’t.” Greg stated forcefully. He didn’t want to hear it.   
“What?”  
“I’m not going to sit and listen to emotional extortion.”  
“Extortion? No, I … I was being honest, Gregory.”   
“That doesn’t mean you’re not being manipulative. Is that why you told me the suicide story? To make me feel like you’ll take your life if I leave?”  


Mycroft’s eyes widened in shock.   
“God… no! How could you think that? I told you because it’s important to me and it regards you. And I don’t think I will be able to tell you any other time… I have never spoken about it before to anyone, and I am not accustomed to emotional honesty in this way… and so I took the opportunity whilst sharing with you.”  
“Well it seems like you’re using it as a ‘forgive me’ kind of statement, since we all know it took me almost dying for John to forgive me. And the fact that it took you so long to recognise my descent into that place makes me seriously consider that you’re just lying - because those signs are not something one tends to forget!”  
“I have buried that memory deep down, it doesn’t come into my consciousness much…”  
“Look, we’re just getting stuck in the same arguments. Me questioning if you’re lying to me, or manipulating me, or … anything. I don’t want this to devolve into a fight, alright?”  
“Neither do I.”  
“And so just … let me have that space, ok?”  
“Very well.” Mycroft spoke, looking unhappy, but then sighing. 

Greg stood and walked to the bedroom.   
“I’m going to be staying with Sherlock tonight. And until we work this out, ok?”  
“You can stay here, I can go to the other-”  
“No, I’m going somewhere I can’t see you all around me. I need that.”  
“Yes, dear.” Mycroft said softly. He was afraid of causing insult by continuing to call Gregory ‘dear’, but couldn’t help himself. 

Greg pulled out a bag and began to shove items into it. He filled it with clothes mostly, and turned around to Mycroft once he’d emptied the wardrobe.   
“Where’s my pillow?” Greg asked forcefully. 

Mycroft flushed red and uttered that it was in his bedroom.   
“What’s it doing there?”   
“I… I felt the need of comfort last night in your absence.” 

Mycroft left to get said item from his bedroom, while Greg stood unbelieving that Mycroft had just admitted to that. He returned with the pillow, and handed it over to Greg.   
“How… how long do you estimate you will be away?” Mycroft asked uncertainly.   
“I don’t know, Mycroft. I just know I need to sort things out by myself for a bit.” 

Mycroft nodded softly in the doorway while Greg shoved the pillow into the duffle bag.   
“You should have a think, too.” Greg said as he lifted the bag onto his shoulder and turned around.  
“I have. My mind is resolved. I am unequivocally yours, however you will have me.”   
“You shouldn’t make promises before you know what you are promising.” Greg reprimanded, hinting at conditions he might place upon Mycroft in the future.  
“Perhaps, but it hardly matters. I will do my very best to atone for my actions and make you happy again.”   
“Even if that means not talking to me again?” Greg asked pointedly. He wasn’t considering that option much anymore, but he decided not to inform Mycroft of that fact. 

Mycroft lowered his head.   
“Yes.” 

Greg halted for a moment, but then nodded and walked past him and out into the hall. He felt like he should say something, but nothing came to mind and so he continued towards the door. 

“Gregory?”

Greg turned.   
“Yes Mycroft?”  
“Please do not dismiss your importance in my life. You have impacted me so severely that I am incapable of returning the man I was prior to our association.” 

Greg gripped the handle of the door as he looked down, thinking over Mycroft’s words.   
“I don’t want you to be that man,” Greg uttered softly, “I want you to be happy.” 

His last words were almost a breath, but Mycroft heard them. And then he was gone, and Mycroft found himself once again staring at his front door within an empty house. 

~

Greg arrived at 221B to find it deserted. He was let in by Mrs Hudson, but she didn’t have a clue where everyone was. Greg found it a little disconcerting. 

He walked up to John’s old room and dumped his bag onto the bed. He didn’t bother unpacking anything. He just sat himself next to his duffle, and ran his fingers through his hair. He sighed. He didn’t think he’d make any progress rifling through his stormy brain tonight, and so decided to have an early night. He changed into his sleeping shirt, grabbed his pillow and tucked himself in, just letting his bag fall to the floor. 

It was a few hours later that Greg woke, his stomach rumbling. He’d forgotten to eat dinner again, having only had that pint of beer since his light lunch. He grumbled to himself and sat up, turning on the light. The house sounded still and quiet. It was approaching midnight, and so he guessed Sherlock must have gone straight to bed. He wasn’t sure exactly where he’d gone earlier, but he guessed it didn’t matter. He’d ask in the morning while explaining his presence. 

He put on some tracksuit pants, some socks, and headed downstairs. He noticed the loud thudding his feet made, and the gentle squeaking of wood as he trod on the stairs. He was suddenly panicked that Sherlock would think there was an intruder and attack him. He cautiously made it to the bottom of the staircase.   
“Ah, kitchen. Food.” He rasped, just loud enough for Sherlock to hear (should he be listening) so that he’d know who was in his house. 

He wandered into the kitchen, but there was still no sign that Sherlock was around and awake. Greg opened the fridge to see what was in, noting the various disgusting containers on the shelves that he decidedly didn’t want to know the contents of. There didn’t seem to be much… he found some cheese that looked alright. He pulled it out and looked about for some bread. Finding none on the bench or in the cupboards - which were fairly bare, even void of Sherlock’s usual experiments he’d encountered on ‘drugs busts’. Greg checked the freezer and thankfully found a loaf nestled away in the back. 

He set to make himself some toasted cheese sandwiches, taking out the tomato sauce he’d seen in one of the cupboards and squirting a portion out onto the cheese. He did, of course, give it a cursory sniff before using it. 

Back in his bedroom, he checked his phone out of habit. He actually had a text from Mary.

**\- Greg, it’s Mary. John was kidnapped, attacked, drugged and put into a bonfire. Sherlock dragged him out in time, but we’re all at the hospital. Come if you wish, but there’s nothing much to be done now.**

**** Well, fuck. 

Greg immediately began to dress himself appropriately to go to the hospital. Once he’d managed to wrangle with his shoes, he grabbed his phone and called Mary.   
“What happened? Where are you?”  
“Greg… we’re at St Bart’s.”  
“I’m so sorry I didn’t respond… I…”  
“Relax, Greg, he’s fine. Well, fine enough.”

Greg did relax a little at hearing that John was actually alright. He noted the details for the room, grabbed his keys and headed out. He was glad that he’d brought his car along with him. 

Mary and Sherlock were standing outside of the room in St Bart’s as Greg came up and joined them.   
“Hey.” He said, his voice strained.   
“Hey, glad to see you could come.” Mary said with a smile. Greg noted that it was genuine, and so things weren’t as serious as he’d pictured in his head.   
“So, what happened?”

Sherlock stood. He looked frustrated.   
“Someone kidnapped John. They drugged him, roughed him up a little but nothing too serious, and then buried him in a Guy Fawkes’ bonfire. They sent Mary a skip code text message, alerting us to his predicament. We got there as soon as we could, and pulled him from the fire. We called an ambulance, and they took him here. He needs to stay until the drug is out of his system.”   
“Right. Who did it?”  
“I don’t know.” Sherlock grumbled, obviously upset. 

Greg ran his fingers through his hair.   
“Is he awake? Can I talk to him?”  
“Yes. We were talking to him before but thought he needed a bit of rest. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind you saying hello though.” Mary said, indicating to the door. 

Greg nodded and walked into the room. John stirred and looked up at him, and then smiled faintly. He looked exhausted and a bit dazed, and had taken a blow to the head, but fairly cheerful.   
“Hey.” Greg said, taking a seat beside him.  
“Hey.”

“You’re not having much luck lately, are you?” Greg chided. John smiled and laughed.   
“Doesn’t seem so, eh?”  
“You alright?”  
“Yeah. I’ll be fine.” John said, nodding, and then closing his eyes. “Killer of a headache though.”   
“So, when did this happen? I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.”   
“It’s fine, I don’t know if you could have done anything, mate. I was standing outside 221 when two guys ambushed me and stuck a needle in my neck. It all gets a bit blurry after that.”   
“Fuck, John. They just took you off the street in broad daylight?”  
“Yep.”  
“Well, at least we’ve got a chance at finding them.”  
“I guess.” John uttered, not really interested in finding the men responsible. Greg figured it was just another thing the doctor wanted to just run away from. 

“So… you never managed to talk to Sherlock?”  
“No. Did you talk with Mycroft?”  
“Yes.”  
“How did it go?”

Greg looked away from John to stare out into nothing directly ahead. He swallowed.   
“I know things.” Greg uttered distantly, as if he were traumatised.   
“Things? What things?” John asked, concern growing.   
“I can’t say. Big things.”   
“Alright. So how did it end between you two?”

“I… I said I needed some time to think about it all. Get it all straight in my head, like. He was seriously open and honest with me… like I asked… and, frankly, it was a bit scary. And there’s one bit that I don’t know if he’s lying to try soften me, or if it actually happened. If it did, I’m a bit dazed over it all.”   
“Right. Well, taking some time is good. But right now, do you think you could forgive him?”  
“I’m… I’m not angry, anymore. I still feel hurt, but I think, yeah… I understand why he did it, and I feel like eventually that’ll become forgiveness.” 

They sat there in silence for a while. Greg wanted to tell John he should still talk to Sherlock, but wasn’t sure if it was a good idea given the circumstance. But then again, it could be the perfect circumstance - John physically incapable of just turning and running away.   
“I still think you should listen to Sherlock.”  
“I knew you were going to say that.”  
“Probably because we had a deal, remember?” Greg quipped with a smile. John smiled and nodded.   
“Yeah, we did. Alright, if he wants to talk, I’ll listen.”  
“Great. I’ll go get him.” 

John opened his mouth to protest, but knew there was no point. Greg had already leapt from the chair and was giving him a knowing smile from the doorway. 

“Sherlock?” Greg asked once he’d shut the door behind him.   
“Hm?”  
“Listen. John agreed to hear your side of the story… provided I did the same with Mycroft. He was kidnapped while he was standing outside the front of your door, ready to talk with you. And since I did actually have a conversation with Mycroft, he’s wanting — or, well, willing — to have that conversation with you now.”  
“Oh.”   
“But Sherlock, you have to be careful. John’s likely not going to be willing to listen to you talk of this again, so you’d better make this count. Don’t just fob it off, or lie. Be honest with him about _everything_ that happened if you still want him around. He can take it.”

Sherlock’s face crinkled. He was not impressed being told what to do, let alone to be honest, but deep down knew he had to do it. He nodded sternly, and then walked into the room.   
“Do we just wait here? Or should we go?” Mary asked.   
“I don’t know. This could take a while. Sherlock’s good at rambling when it’s information that doesn’t really matter to him personally. With feelings… it’s a bit more of a struggle.”  
“Alright. But what did you mean by, ‘he can take it’?” 

Greg eyed Mary uncertainly, debating if he should tell her. Deciding that John would likely tell her anyway once he found out, he might as well.   
“Sherlock was tortured.”

Mary’s mouth opened in shock, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth.   
“Oh god… really?”  
“Yes. He hasn’t spoken to me about it in detail, or if the time in Serbia was the only time - just that he’s been alone the past two years and it was tough on him. That’s ‘Sherlock’ for some pretty traumatic things. He did it all to protect those he cares about - myself, John, and Mrs Hudson. I just… I hope he’s open about it to John, because I know it’d help him understand better. And eventually lead to forgiveness. But John’s a bit thick when it comes to deciphering ‘Sherlock-ese’.”

Mary nodded knowingly, and Greg gave a cheeky grin. Mary seemed to understand John pretty well. They decided to take a walk around the ward and go search for some coffee, chatting about John and Mycroft. 


	10. Crunch Time

Greg found that he couldn’t sleep very well after going back to the hospital. John would be released in the early morning, and so there was little point in the three of them remaining in the ward. He never was much of a deep sleeper, but that night he found himself barely drifting off for most of the remaining hours. Which was why he heard Sherlock’s phone ring downstairs. 

He knew he shouldn’t listen to the conversation, but he wanted to know at least who was calling… just in case something had happened with John, or the terror plot Sherlock had talked to him about. He was not expecting Mycroft to call. 

“Mycroft, why are you phoning me at this hour?” Sherlock hissed into the phone.   
“It is sunrise, brother mine. It is not unreasonable.”  
“Well, tell me why you’re calling, then.” 

Mycroft sighed. Should he just tell Sherlock what was going on? He would really rather not.   
“As you may remember, our parents are arriving this morning.”  
“Oh, yes. Do tell them I said hello.” Sherlock grumbled, obviously hinting at not wishing to see them.   
“You can tell them yourself, I have instructed them to visit you first.”  
“What? Why? You invited them.”  
“Yes, Sherlock, but only at their request to see you after your time away.”  
“I don’t care, I’m busy with my terror network, remember? What is stopping you from occupying them all of a sudden? I thought you were going to take them to see _Les Mis_?”  
“I… I am not in a position to be around them for the moment.”

Sherlock stopped his pacing. He raised his eyebrow.   
“And why would that be, brother mine?” Sherlock sneered into the phone.   
“I’m sure you are well aware.”  
“I’m sure I am, but why don’t you enlighten me? After all, you are the smart one.” 

Sherlock smiled, knowing he’d struck a nerve with his brother. He did not expect the next words spoken through the phone, however.  
“Please, Sherlock. I need your help.” 

Sherlock was stunned. Mycroft never asked for help, let alone _his_ help.  
“Of course. How may I do so?”  
“I… I just need some time to sort myself out. Please, would you let them spend a few hours with you this morning?”  
“Very well, Mycroft.” 

Sherlock hung up the phone, a little unsettled. It was a rare occasion to hear his brother so shaken. Whatever had happened yesterday between him and Lestrade was serious. And it was surprising that Mycroft was affected this much. Sherlock sat himself down on his chair and thought. 

Greg walked down the stairs, unable to keep himself in the bedroom.   
“Sherlock?” He called, announcing his presence.   
“Lestrade.” Sherlock responded.   
“I er… I heard you got a phone call. Is everything alright?”   
“My parents will be visiting me very soon for some time.”  
“Oh. Oh, alright then… I’ll just get ready and head off early for work.”  
“You don’t have to vacate the premises on their behalf” 

Greg thought he should feel flattered that Sherlock didn’t mind him being around his parents, but he still just felt awkward at the thought. He walked into the kitchen to make himself some coffee. He really needed the caffeine today.   
“I still should go into work, though.” Greg called from the kitchen.   
“Understandable.”  
“Hey, if you can… could you go visit Anderson today?” Greg asked, moving to face Sherlock while he sat in his chair. The man rolled his eyes and groaned.   
“Very well.”  
“Just… be gentle, with him, Sherlock. Remember he’s not really … stable at the moment.”

Sherlock gave Greg an inquisitive look.   
“But he was proven right… surely he’s fine?”  
“Yeah, well… him being right or wrong has little say over his mental state.” Greg stated as he went to fetch the kettle.  
“Fine.” Sherlock grumbled. 

Greg walked into the living room and handed Sherlock a cup of tea.  
“So… how did things go with John last night?”  
“He… he listened without shouting at me at least.”  
“Good, good.”   
“But I can tell he hasn’t forgiven me for it.”  
“Give it time.” 

Sherlock grunted in frustration and stood.   
“It wasn’t supposed to be like this!” He snapped, ruffling his head.   
“What?”  
“This… all of this.” Sherlock waved his hands around him while twirling on the spot.  
“You seriously couldn’t have expected nothing to change after your suicide, Sherlock.”

The detective sighed and plopped himself down in his chair once again.  
“I knew things would be difficult, but not this different. John wasn’t supposed to find someone and start a new life without me. Mycroft wasn’t supposed to change… although I admit his change is more positive.”   
“Is that you giving me your approval?”  
“You don’t need my approval, Lestrade. But yes, I do think you and my brother work together. You should go to him.”  
“It’s still not the right time, Sherlock.”  
“If you’re worried about him being insincere in his affections towards you, or his distress at your absence, I can assure you that you are mistaken.” 

Greg looked down into his coffee. No, he didn’t really think Mycroft was faking it, but he hadn’t realised that it had been significant enough for Sherlock of all people to notice.  
“Look, I don’t really want to talk about it right now, ok?” 

Sherlock inclined his head, and then continued to sip his tea. Greg decided it would be best to just find breakfast on his way to work, and perhaps later afterwards he’d go to the store. He heard his phone ding, and so pulled it out of his pocket.

**\- Got the day off work today. Going to go to see Sherlock. You were right, Greg. I’m not angry anymore. Not after what he said. John.**

**** Greg smiled to himself.

**\- Glad to hear. So you’re ok now?**

**\- Yeah, I’m fine.**

**** “John?” A deep baritone voice asked.  
“Yeah, he’s doing alright. Says he’s going to come over later on.”

Sherlock’s lips pursed together and Greg could see the cogs whirl in his mind. He was obviously concerned about his parents coming over, and then adding John into the mix likely was challenging for him. 

~

“Alright, so where is Anderson?”

Greg looked up from his desk to see Sherlock standing there.   
“Hey, how’s it going?”  
“Oh, I have some exciting news regarding the terror cell. I believe there is a bomb inside a tube car underneath Parliament. So, Anderson?”

Greg’s mouth dropped open. He made an uncertain groaning noise.   
“He’s… at his house. He’s been on half time for a year almost.”   
“Right.”  
Sherlock made to turn around, but Greg shouted at him before he could manage. 

“What’s this about a bomb?”  
Sherlock smiled that gleeful grin he gave whenever he’d solved a particularly difficult case.   
“Lord Moran was seen boarding a tube car on the District line…”  
“Yes, yes, you said, and disappeared. Now, the bomb?”  
“Right, well, it turns out, the whole tube car disappeared, not just Moran. That information we had about an underground terror network… it was actually an ‘Underground’ network.”  
“…Right. So, you said the tube carriage disappeared. Where did it go? It can’t just disappear.”  
“Exactly. But I don’t know where it is… there’s nothing between St James Park and Westminster.”  
“So… shouldn’t you be out trying to work out where the bomb is then?”  
“I am. I needed to go get some maps from Molly. I thought I might as well see Anderson while I’m here, since I needed to tell you about the terror plot development.”

Greg looked around uncomfortably. There was a bomb somewhere, and Sherlock wanted to drop by and visit friends?

“I’ll need to contact you later once I find out where it is. Have bomb disposal on standby. Oh, and do inform Mycroft about the situation.”  
“Yeah, we’re still not really talking…” Greg mentioned as Sherlock turned to leave.  
“Well, looks like you’ll need to start, then.” Sherlock said with a grin and a knowing twinkle in his icy blue eyes. 

Before Greg could protest, he was gone. Greg groaned out loud, loud enough for Donovan to look up from her desk. He didn’t care, however, and let his forehead hit the hard wooden surface before him.   
“You ok sir?” Sally asked from the doorway.   
“Yeah.” Greg mumbled, his head still planted on the desk. He breathed in deeply, and then looked up at her.   
“We need to get the bomb squad ready. And a team.”  
“Oh, um… certainly, sir. Why?”  
“Terror threat. I don’t know when, or where, just that something is going to go down. We have to keep it fairly hushed, though. I’ll inform the Chief if you’ll start requisitioning for the squad. I need to make a phone call first.”

Donovan nodded to him and left to get to work. Greg pulled out his phone and scrolled to Mycroft’s name in his contacts list. He felt his stomach twist as he pressed the dial button. 

“Gregory?”  
“Hey, Mycroft.”  
“Are you alright?”   
“Um, ok I guess. Listen, I need to talk to you.”  
“I would love to discuss our situation with you, however might I request a different time? I am currently … preoccupied.”

Greg cringed a little when hearing that Mycroft felt he was too busy to talk with him, even though that wasn’t the reason for his call.  
“I …er…” Greg started, but was distracted by the voice in the background of Mycroft’s call. _‘It’s no trouble, Myc, we can just go over there while you talk with your boyfriend.’_  
Greg heard Mycroft groan softly in disapproval, and could practically see him rolling his eyes. So, Mycroft was out with his parents, then. An adequate reason to avoid talking about their relationship over the phone. 

“As you can hear, I am currently taking my parents on a tour of London.”   
“Yeah, I got that… no, that’s not why I called. I needed to talk with you about the terror plot you had Sherlock look into.”  
“Tell me.” Mycroft stated, his voice suddenly serious and grave.   
“Sherlock told me to tell you that he’d worked out that there was a suspected bomb inside a tube carriage somewhere. I’m getting the bomb squad ready, and a team to help with whatever needs doing. I am yet to clear it with above, but I called you first.”  
“Thank you, Gregory. I will take care of the authorities above you. Focus on assembling the team. We may need to evacuate somewhere hastily. Are there any more details that I need to be aware of?”  
“Um, I dunno, just that Lord Moran is involved somehow? He was the one that was on the disappearing tube carriage.”  
“I will take care of it. Thank you. And Gregory? Please be safe.” 

Mycroft hung up the phone and Greg felt strange. It was nice to talk with Mycroft again without the pain of their argument looming in the air. Although, threat of a terror bombing wasn’t entirely much better. 

~

It was night before he was contacted by Sherlock again. The squad was ready to move out within 30 minutes of being requested, and so had been restlessly waiting on standby for hours.

**\- Tube car detached at unopened Sumatra Road station. Bomb will detonate during anti-terrorism bill sitting in Parliament. Enter Via Westminster Station. Send squad. John and I are going in. SH**

**** Greg instructed the team to begin evacuating parliament. He picked up his phone and called Mycroft while moving out with the bomb squad.   
“How far ahead of you is Sherlock?”  
“I don’t know, I just got the message, so hopefully not too far.”  
“Gregory, I don’t want you to go with the bomb squad.”  
“It’s my job, Mycroft!”  
“You could die!”  
“Yeah well so could a lot of people. John and Sherlock…”  
“They’re both down there?”  
“Yes, and if we want to have a chance at saving them, we need to get there now. I could use your big brain right about now.”   
“I am currently working at finding Moran. If I can find him in time, we can stop him.”  
“Alright.” 

There was a pause while he stood, trailing behind the team.   
“Myc?”  
“Yes, dear?”  
“Whatever happens… I …”  
“Don’t.”  
“No, really. After everything that happened, after the hurt… I still love you.”  
“I love you too, Gregory. And I am sorry.” 

Greg didn’t know what to say, and so just nodded… and even though he was on the phone, he knew Mycroft would know. He hung up, and then caught up with his team. It seemed surreal that he was going out to try contain a terrorist bomb, and that he might not make it back. It was like he didn’t feel it. He didn’t feel the panic, the fear, the terror… and he didn’t feel the hurt from Mycroft either. He just felt the sense of doom looming over him, the seriousness of the situation, the thrum of adrenaline in his veins… and the hope that he’d see Mycroft again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, just a quick note to say that I am writing just a little accompanying piece that talks about Mycroft's life just as he and Sherlock met Greg for the first time. I wanted to expand a little upon the idea of Mycroft reaching the point of suicide. I will admit it's largely because I wanted an outlet for those difficult emotions, and where I'm up to with this story doesn't allow for it.   
> Read: things get better for our boys. 
> 
> Question though: Should I post it as a separate work in this series, or as a chapter in this work?


	11. Amends

Greg pulled out his phone and looked at the conversation he had with Mycroft. 

**\- Gregory, I am glad that you are safe. MH**

**\- As am I. Same to you.**

**\- Good lord, they are expecting me to attend a celebration to honour the prevention of the terror attack. MH**

**\- Just think of the people there… how utterly horrendous. MH**

**\- You’ll survive, Myc.**

**\- At least your promotion in the wake of events will be a quieter affair. MH**

**\- Apologies, I do believe you were not to know of that yet. Please act surprised. MH**

**\- How’s this? D8**

**\- I do not understand, are you asking me out to dinner? MH**

**** He smiled warmly at the messages. To anyone else, this was simple casual conversation. To anyone who knew Mycroft, and knew his distaste for small talk, knew this was practically desperate attempts to keep Greg talking to him. He chuckled at the last message. He wasn’t usually one to use emoticons, but wanted to see how Mycroft would react. He knew Mycroft understood the use of the expression, but chose to instead feign ignorance and cleverly ask for another _‘Deight’_. 

He hadn’t responded to that. He didn’t know what to say. Yes, he did want to go out for another dinner with Mycroft. He did want to try continue their relationship. He was opposed to the idea of ‘starting again’, because so much had happened in the relatively short time they’d been together, and they’d both changed a fair amount for the better in that time. 

But… he was afraid. He’d spent most of his life being lied to be one person or another, and he frankly was sick of it. He didn’t want to commit himself to a life where he _knew_ he’d continue being lied to. But even that thought made him question himself: Mycroft’s lies weren’t the same as the ones from his exes. He didn’t believe that Mycroft would, or even could, cheat on him… so he definitely wasn’t worried about that. He just had trepidation in considering a life in the shadows of the British Government. 

“He’ll only keep things from you to keep you safe, you know.”  
Greg snapped out of his thoughts and looked at the person suddenly by his side: Mary. He peered over her shoulder and saw that Sherlock and John had left, and Molly was now showing off her fiancé to Mrs Hudson. 

“Huh?”  
“Mycroft. I can tell you’re thinking about it. Trust me, he wouldn’t _intentionally_ do anything to hurt you. He elects to suffer himself for the benefit of those he cares about… or the best outcome.”

Greg blinked at her a few times. He wasn’t sure how Mary knew he was thinking about it, or how she knew what Mycroft was like. They’d not spent much time together.   
“How…?” Greg began to ask, but was interrupted.  
“I can’t tell you how I know. You’re just going to have to believe me.” Mary said with a knowing smile. Greg could see there was something she wasn’t telling him, but let it go. 

“I… what if this keeps happening? I don’t want to spend my life worried that he’s hiding something like this or worse from me.” Greg said while exhaling.   
“I think he’d be more reluctant to do something like this again, but I understand your point. All I can say is what I said to John: You trusted him not to hurt you, and he broke that trust. He realises his transgression; and so don’t lose something important out of fear of being hurt again, especially when he’s trying to change and make amends for you.”  
“…That’s what you said to John?”  
“Word for word.” Mary smiled, and moved back to rejoin the others. 

Greg stood and thought about it. Everyone seemed to be telling him the same thing, but it was only now that their words were sinking in.

**\- Yes. We’ll work out details tonight. I’ll be home at 6.**

**** Greg read the message a few times before pressing send. He smiled to himself at his wit to be able to say such things for Mycroft to pick up on… like he wasn’t so far below Mycroft intellectually as Sherlock often had suggested. 

Across London, Mycroft felt his phone buzz. He slid his phone out of his pocket inconspicuously, and beamed upon reading the message. _Home_. Warmth spread through his chest as the tension in his muscles relaxed. He wasn’t even annoyed at being around people in the ceremony anymore. He was so exuberantly overjoyed he still had Gregory that tears welled in his eyes. And he didn’t even care that people could see him.  
_Things are going to be alright._

~

Greg took a deep breath before opening the front door. He wasn’t sure why he was anxious, but he was. He pushed the door open and walked in to the hallway. The first thing he registered was that it was dark. He then noticed that the whole hallway was outlined in little tea-light candles; a line running along the skirting board on each side. He stepped forward to drop his bag on his bed, but looked to the left and peered into the living room. That room was also illuminated with candles. Upon the table rested two large ones in the middle of the table, shedding dancing light upon the place setting for two. 

He placed his bag on the floor of his bedroom, and followed the trail of candles down the hall and around the corner to the right. Mycroft’s bedroom door was open, for the first time he’d ever seen, and there just beyond the doorway stood the man himself. He was wearing his grey three piece suit, standing stoically tall, and held his hands rested together upon his belly…holding a single red rose. 

“Gregory.” He spoke softly, his eyes piercing into Greg’s soul.   
“Myc? What is all this?”  
“I am so sorry for what I have done. I hope that one day you will see that I did not mean any harm, and did so only to protect you. The fact that you are willing to give me another chance means more to me than words could express.”

Mycroft took a few steps further, and held out the rose for Greg to take.  
“I can’t promise you that I won’t keep things from you anymore… because I know that’s just not possible. But I can promise to always consider you, always care for you, and always do everything in my power to protect you from harm.”

Greg genially took the rose, his heart pounding. He’d never thought Mycroft Holmes could be this romantic. Part of him, deep down, had always wanted to experience such romantic gestures… but no one had had the inclination in the past.

Those moments watching Gregory’s reaction were long and tentative for Mycroft. His hand trembled slightly, which caused Mycroft’s eyebrow to flicker briefly. Was it too much? A sudden burst of adrenaline pounded through his system when he saw Gregory drop the rose onto the ground, but he relaxed immediately after as the man stepped forward and grabbed him for a deep kiss. 

Mycroft reached out and wrapped his arms around Gregory’s waist, revelling in the feeling of the man’s strong hands grasping his cheeks. Greg slid his left arm forwards to rest on Mycroft’s shoulder, and gently stroke the back of his head. He tingled at feeling Mycroft’s warm skin against is, the man’s pointed nose pressing against the sensitive skin of his face, and the soft strokes Mycroft’s nimble fingers ran along his sides. 

Greg broke the kiss, and moved his hands so that he was hugging Mycroft close. He rested his head against his chest, sighed, and gripped him tighter. The British Government had the same idea, and held Gregory firmly; one arm around the man’s waist and the other pressed against his back so he could cup the back of Gregory’s head. 

Greg closed his eyes. After all the hurt and turmoil of the past few days, this was what he needed. Mycroft completed him, and he knew he never wanted to be without him.  
“I forgive you, My.” Greg uttered softly. 

They remained in the warm embrace for some time, healing each other.


	12. A Stressful Day

Greg hobbled into the house. His foot was killing him, but he doubted anything was broken. Besides, it was his fault it was hurting, so he felt like he should just deal with the consequences of it. He was spending the next few days in the manor with Mycroft. It had been intimidating at first, but he’d grown accustomed to the space. He just tried not to think about the exuberantly fancy decorations scattered about: he _really_ didn’t like the suits of armour that were on display in various rooms, and the portraits in the hallway were just downright scary. But, on the positive side, the kitchen was superb, and the garden lovely. 

Greg limped to the bedroom to change out of his good suit. He was sharing a bedroom with Mycroft, which he enjoyed… most of the time. He’d found that Mycroft was fastidious when it came to keeping the place tidy and in order - and never appreciated it when Greg would just toss his used clothes on the floor. Greg chuckled to himself as he dropped his tie on the ground.  
_Mycroft’s not here right now._

He carefully took off his shoes, then threw them across the room just because he could do so without being told off. Before long, he was clad in his favourite jeans, his old punk shirt he wore when he was angry, and his leather jacket. He knew he should clean the room before Mycroft arrived, however since that was going to be a few hours away, he limped out towards the kitchen for a beer and left the room as it was. 

He grabbed a bottle from the fridge, opened it, and took a large swig as he made his way to the lounge. He rounded the corner and just about flew out of his skin.   
“Fucking hell Mycroft! Give me some warning next time!” Greg shouted. Mycroft had appeared directly in front of him out of nowhere.  
“I did not intent to startle you.”  
“Startle? You almost gave me a damn heart attack. Aren’t you supposed to be at work for like another four hours?”  
“I heard you were having a difficult day, and so left early. I still need to do some things yet,but as they could be done from home, I thought I’d come and surprise you… hoping to make you feel a bit better. But to the more pressing question: what happened to you?”  
“Huh?”  
“You’re limping.”  
“Oh. That.” Greg said while blushing. “Come on, I’ll tell you in the lounge after we sit down.” 

Greg threw himself down onto the ridiculously comfortable, and no doubt equally ridiculously expensive, couch. Mycroft sat in his chair next to the couch and eyed him questioningly.   
“You know the Water’s case?”  
“The one I have been trying to get you out of for the past fifteen months? Yes.”  
“You what?”  
“It was a stressful case. Each time you were involved, you got worked up and it was becoming detrimental to your health considering everything else… and so I simply recommended you be taken off it. I was not as successful as I would have liked, but it goes to show how invaluable you are.”

Greg blinked cautiously, replaying the past two years over in his head. He’d wondered why he was suddenly demoted to ‘consultant’ on the case he’d headlined for a while before Sherlock’s suicide… but he’d assumed that it was just his boss taking notice of his mental state and the fact he’d taken so much time off. He had liked that he’d been told to come back to it in part with Sally’s help… it had made him feel needed. And it had been a good break from all the Sherlock case files. Deciding to not make a big deal over Mycroft’s involvement, he moved on. 

“Yeah, well… they bloody got off again. AGAIN! I’d been back on the case in full not a month and they strike again… and I’d thought, this time we got ‘em. Surely. But no! They fucking walked free again didn’t they? The only way we’re gonna get them is to catch them in the fucking act!”   
“I agree… but how did you get injured?” Mycroft enquired, ignoring the swearing.  
“Oh, ah… that. Well I was pretty pissed off about it all and so…” Greg coughed and cleared his throat, “I kicked the wheel of my car.” 

Mycroft smiled and rolled his eyes.   
“Oi, don’t give me that. And stop trying to get me out of it, alright? I can headline the case just fine now. I _am_ Detective Chief Inspector now.” Greg said with a gleeful smile.  
“Indeed. However considering how close you were to that promotion before the Rich Brook debacle, I would perhaps say ‘again’ instead.”   
“What do you mean?”  
“You didn’t notice that even the papers were referring to you as DCI Lestrade?”  
“No, not really. I was a bit … preoccupied.”  
“Yes, well… it had all but been handed to you, the paperwork filed and cleared… and then following the ‘incident’, your superiors decided to withhold it from you.”

Greg shrugged and drank from his beer again. It really didn’t matter. He tried not to think too much of the past… well, the period were he was particularly depressed. He found it helped him feel better generally to focus on the present. Mycroft made that much easier to do. 

“Will you please move to the side?” Mycroft asked as he stood. Greg slid across the sofa so that there was space for Mycroft. 

Mycroft cuddled up with Greg, softly rubbing his arm. Greg felt calmer already by the action, and leaned to the side against Mycroft.  
“It’ll be ok my dearest. You’ll get them next time.” 

Greg didn’t say anything to revoke Mycroft’s sentiment. He was just happy the platitudes were said at all… it was something of a recent development for Mycroft. 

“I hear that John is planning to ask Sherlock to be his best man.” Mycroft said after a few moments.   
“Oh? Well, yeah, that makes sense.”  
“You’re not upset that it’s not you?”

Greg looked at Mycroft. In truth he did feel a little left out… like Sherlock comes back and suddenly he’s the one in the limelight again and everything Greg had done for John in the past, the closeness they’d developed in the wake of it all, just was forgotten. Mycroft understood what his silence meant. 

“If it’s any consolation to you, I believe he is more engrossed in my brother’s presence than blatantly neglecting yours.”  
“Yeah well, that’s always been how it is, hasn’t it? Sherlock too. John comes along and suddenly he doesn’t have time for me anymore.”

Mycroft huffed uncertainly, and cleared his throat.   
“Gregory, I’m going to tell you something you may or may not already know, or perhaps believe.”   
“That John likes Sherlock in a way he can’t explain?”  
“Well there’s that,” Mycroft chuckled, “But I was going to refer to my brother. He was always rather emotional, even though he wasn’t very good at coping with emotions. He’d often find himself liking particular boys at school but not understanding why.”  
“How long did it take him to work out he was gay, then?”  
“I … it’s not as simple as just ‘gay’ in terms of my brother. And seeing as I was, it wasn’t a new concept for him to realise. He has difficulty understanding emotional connections, and so couldn’t work out why he couldn’t just stop feeling attraction. After his first attempt at having a relationship… or, well, pursuing those feelings he had… he has been too concerned with how to express himself, and worried about doing the wrong thing and making those he loves leave him. His feelings, and expression of them, are not exactly normal.”  
“That’s fairly obvious.”  
“Good, it’s not been obvious to many. Anyway, he has decided to be asexual in an attempt to shield himself from any more difficulties. And I suppose mostly he is, actually. But unfortunately for him, being asexual doesn’t stop one falling in love. He’d detached himself from most emotional connections. It had been working out fairly well until John appeared.”  
“Sherlock is attracted to John?”

Mycroft sighed a little and rested his head on Gregory’s shoulder.   
“John has become my brother’s whole world, and he is terrified of doing anything to lose him. He no doubt tested John early on if he’d be interested, and likely used the age old excuse of ‘married to his work’ to deny his inquisition. I’m sure it’s not been easy for him to hear John’s frequent proclamations of being ‘not gay’, and remain besotted with him. At least Sherlock and Mary get along well, and she easily picked up on Sherlock’s interest.   
  
“The sad thing is, that John does harbour feelings for him. He’s repressed them enough to not even realise what they are… and simply accepted that Sherlock is his amazing best friend. I’m sure it’s not the first time there’s been a man in John’s life he’s been inexplicably drawn to. Someone for whom he’d risk everything, do anything… except, perhaps, engage in those feelings of attraction.”  
“This is all very interesting, Myc, but I don’t understand your point.” Greg said bluntly. He’d guessed almost all of this information before. Still, it was nice to know he was likely not wrong in his assumptions. 

“My point is, Gregory, that Sherlock is going to need a lot of support in the coming months to handle the man he loves marrying someone else, and John is of course going to place Sherlock higher in his considerations than you because of his subconscious affections. It’s not a personal vendetta against you or your actions.”   
“Oh. Right. Well, that’s good then. When you say ‘support’, what do you mean?”  
“Who knows. Could be anything from agreeing to give him another case, to accepting his insults when he’s having a particularly difficult time handling his emotions, or if it gets really bad… he may even reach out to you.”  
  
“Sherlock? Ask for help?” Greg asked incredulously. That man avoided help like the plague.   
“It’s been known to happen. But you are right, it’s likely it’d be only in the most dire of circumstances.”  
“What, like, life threatening?” Greg asked pointedly.   
“You are aware of how self-destructive my brother can be. While he has never been one to be suicidal, he has indeed placed himself into lethally precarious situations in order to cope with difficult matters. Sometimes it has been drugs, other times it has been criminals. Considering he doesn’t want to do things to inflame John’s wrath, I would suspect the latter to be more likely.”  
“Alright… I’ll do what I can. You’ll keep an eye on him too, though, yeah?” 

Mycroft didn’t respond, and merely hummed against him. It could have been either a yes or no, or perhaps even avoidance. Probably an ‘of course’, but not willing to admit his methods. Greg filed the information away in his mind for later, and tried to focus on the warmth of his partner’s body against his own. He took a few deep breaths, wriggled about to better cuddle Mycroft, and closed his eyes. He kissed Mycroft gently on his forehead. 

  
“I’m glad I have you to come home to.” Greg said warmly.  
“And I you.” Mycroft responded, moving in and kissing Gregory softly. 


	13. Here for You, Sherlock

“Sherlock, you in?” Greg called as he walked up the stairs. He heard a hum in response, and so entered the flat. Greg walked in and sat in John’s chair, seeing as Sherlock remained curled up on the couch in his dressing gown. He clearly wasn’t in a good mood. 

“What do you want, Greg? Shouldn’t you be at work, or compromising my brother?” Sherlock asked with a dead panned face. Greg laughed.   
“Yeah, well, I plan on doing both of those things later. I wanted to talk to you first.”  
“Oh, lucky me.” Sherlock groaned. 

“So, what have you been doing lately?”  
“Nothing. Bored.” Sherlock griped, and turned so that his back was to Greg. 

Greg frowned. He knew as well as John did that a bored Sherlock was a destructive Sherlock. He tried to lighten the mood a little.   
“Well, the place is still standing, so you can’t be that bored.” 

He got no response.   
_Well, might as well just say what I came to say._

“Sherlock, I wanted to talk to you about John. I know you’re not coping very well without him around, and …no, don’t try to deny it… and I want to tell you that I’m still here for you.” Greg said, raising his hand to Sherlock when he’d turned around ready to spout off at him.   
“I’m fine.” Sherlock grumbled, his arms crossed as he lay on the couch.   
“No, Sherlock, you’re not. It’s been a big change for you to come back, expecting things to continue on as usual, and find that everything’s different. I know you; you don’t like change.”

Sherlock remained silent, although he was glaring at him furiously. Greg sighed.   
“You’re going to need to talk about this, Sherlock.”   
“No, I don’t. You wouldn’t understand anyway.”  
“Yeah, I think I do, Sherlock. I’m dating your brother, remember? He does talk of you, you know.”

Sherlock bolted upright.   
“What has he said?”  
“Just things that I already knew or suspected anyway, relax.” 

Greg hadn’t expected Sherlock to be so afraid of what he knew, or of what Mycroft had said. Was there more to it all than just what he knew?   
_Eh, that wouldn’t surprise me. Damn Holmeses and their secrets._

“How do you feel about John not being here, Sherlock?”  
“I don’t want to talk about it.”  
“Perhaps, but I think you do need to.”

Sherlock made a face that looked like he was struggling not to vomit, but then began to speak words in a hoarse voice.   
“I … am not… comfortable… with his absence.”  
Greg nodded, and waited patiently for the man to continue.   
“I had not expected to be alone once I returned. I had done enough of that abroad, and managed it with the expectation that I would come back to the enjoyment of his company once more.”  
“I know you care for him deeply, Sherlock. And that you wouldn’t do anything to upset him - I am proud of you for that, you know. For avoiding the drugs even though I’d imagine you’d want them about now.” 

Sherlock shifted his gaze across the room, avoiding meeting Greg’s eyes.   
“John dislikes it. Smoking too… I noticed you went back on the patches once you and Mycroft worked out things. Did you know he smokes too? Not often but on occasion.”  
“Yes. I did. So you’ve stopped smoking too?”

Greg was trying to keep the conversation focused on Sherlock, who rolled his eyes at the question as if to say ‘duh’.   
“Good… I’m glad. You’ll have to find something to occupy yourself with, though.”   
“Obviously.”  
“You could help out with the wedding?” Greg offered, deciding to just jump right in to the difficult things.   
“I’m sorry?”  
“John and Mary’s wedding.”  
“I knew whom you were talking about, but I was merely incredulous as to why I should be involved?”  
“Well… you know them both, I’m sure they’d welcome your input.”  
“Wedding planning is not my forte, and I believe it is supposed to be an activity between the engaged parties.”

Sherlock’s mood grew darker with resentment, and Greg knew he was on to something important.   
“Sherlock, perhaps you should talk to someone about all this.”  
“But I am talking about this? Are you not someone?”  
“I meant a therapist, but sure, I’m here to listen… if you start telling me your concerns.”

Sherlock groaned again, and rubbed his face with his hands. He slouched forward, and mumbled something Greg couldn’t understand.   
“I’m sorry, what?”  
“I said it’s hard, Greg. It’s hard to watch him go make a commitment to someone else. To see him make a new life, one that will inevitably be without me. Mrs Hudson’s threats that marriage changes people and that they’re going to just lose touch with me are eating at my nerves… but there’s nothing I can do about it! I can’t back away and let them have their lives, because I can’t seem to stop feeling… I, I don’t know, Greg. If I push myself unwanted into their lives, they’re likely to reject me. I don’t see a way to keep him.”  
“I think you underestimate how important you are to John.”  
“He has Mary now.”  
“Sherlock… he is capable of caring about more than one person at a time.”  
“Is he? It doesn’t seem that way. He spent most of his life with me while he lived here, and then I leave and he attaches himself to you. Once Mary came along, you weren’t in the picture anymore, and now that I’m back and he still has Mary, I’m not either.” 

Greg tried to come up with a counter argument, but Sherlock seemed to have a point.   
“Sure, he might have a focus on only one person, but he still can have friends as well as a partner. That’s just what happens. Friends aren’t involved in a person’s life as much as a partner is.”

Sherlock made a face that told Greg he wanted to be the ‘partner’ again, not just a friend. Greg’s heart drooped for the man, who sat across from him in a pitiful state.   
“Sherlock… seriously, you should keep trying to be in touch with John. But I’m afraid that you’re also going to have to accept that things are different now, and that you’re just a friend to him now.”   
“What if I don’t want to?”  
“You’ll only lose him more if you stay away.”  
“No, what if I don’t want to be just a friend?”  
“I’m afraid there’s not much you can do about that, mate. Your choices now are just to do what you can to be a close friend to him, or to leave.” 

Sherlock sunk into himself and grumbled. They both knew what Sherlock would choose - there was no way he’d be able to willingly walk away from John Watson. Greg did feel sorry for him, though… stuck caring that much about someone who had already moved on, and never being able to leave to find that significant other for himself. But Greg had a feeling that Sherlock didn’t care much for finding anyone else. At least he’d still be happy to have John in his life in any measure. He might just have to talk to John and Mary about including Sherlock more. 

“How?” Sherlock whispered.  
“How what?”  
“How do I … be a good friend?” Sherlock asked, sounding defeated.   
“I guess that depends on the situation. But I’ll always be around to help you, you know that.”   
“Thank you, Greg.” Sherlock uttered quietly, and laid back down on the couch with his arms wrapped around himself. He looked pretty traumatised, or overwhelmed, at the prospect of having to deal with all of these new changes. Greg just hoped he’d be able to help his friend cope with it all. 

Greg felt like Sherlock needed some time to think about things on his own, and so he stood.   
“Listen, mate, I have to go. Work calls. But you contact me any time, you hear?”

Sherlock just nodded absent-mindedly. Greg nodded, and walked out of the flat.   
_He’s going to be thrilled - and a bit shocked - when John asks him to be his best man. Well, most likely asks him. I still don’t know for sure._

That thought got him thinking - Sherlock would have no idea what that would mean. He was going to have to help him a lot with that. Realising he had to go to St Bart’s soon for a case, he decided that he’d drop by Molly and ask for her thoughts on the matter. She might have a few ideas on how to help. 


	14. Roleplay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Explicit Chapter. 
> 
> Warning for some in depth sexual activity. 
> 
> If you want to skip it, the gist of it all is:   
> Greg's had a bugger of a day. He gave up the Waters case to rush to Sherlock's aid with maximum backup, only to find him wanting help with the best man speech. Mycroft helps by offering to smooth things over with the Yard, and suggests roleplaying with some new toys he'd bought thinking he'd be celebrating Greg's success. The evening helps Greg feel better.

Greg walked through the door and straight to the bedroom. He fell face first onto the bed, his feet dangling off the edge so his shoes wouldn’t be on the bed.  
“Arrrrgghhhhhhgggggg!” He shouted into the bedding. 

“Gregory dear? What is it?” Mycroft spoke as he walked into the bedroom. He heard a muffled noise as the Inspector spoke, his face still in the covers. He’d obviously had a difficult day at work; Mycroft knew he was going after the Waters Gang today, and had thought that this time he’d be successful in capturing them. Apparently not. He walked in and sat at the head of the bed, placing his hand on Gregory’s shoulder. 

“Sherlock.” Greg grumbled, lifting himself up to prop against his elbows and look at Mycroft.   
“What happened? Take me through it.” Mycroft spoke soothingly.

Greg let his head flop forward as he sighed again. He kept his gaze focused on the sheets below him.  
“I was so excited. We had ‘em. Finally. In. The. Act. So I’m moving in, and my phone starts buzzing. I ignore it, but it keeps going. Multiple text messages. So, just before we burst in to do the arrests, I look at it. It was your damned brother. Desperately asking for help. He even said ‘please’.”  
“Oh god.” Mycroft uttered.   
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. So what did I do? I give the case to Sally and drive to Baker Street as fast as I could. I called in for maximum backup… I had no idea what I’d be facing. I get there and you know what I find? Sherlock, sitting at his computer, asking me for funny stories about John for his bloody best man speech!”

Mycroft groaned. Yep, that was Sherlock. Gregory let himself flop back into the bed, and Mycroft stroked him softly. Greg felt calmer at Mycroft’s touch. He rolled so that he lay on his side, so that he could look up into Mycroft’s light blue orbs.   
“I’m sorry, dear.” Mycroft uttered.   
“It’s not your fault. But man am I gonna see hell for this… I had a chopper in the air, men on the ground surrounding the place… it was so embarrassing to call them off.”  
“I’ll take care of that for you.”   
“You will?”  
“Oh yes, I am quite proficient at getting you off.” 

Greg’s eyes blew wide and he burst out laughing.   
“I’m sorry, but … I had not expected you to say that. That’s more my thing.”   
“I know, but I wanted to try my hand at innuendo. I’m sorry…”  
“No, no …it’s fine, really. As long as you mean it.”  
“That I can square things with the Yard? Certainly.”   
“No, Myc… that you intend to follow through with your innuendo.” Greg chuckled. 

“Oh, well… yes, indeed. In fact, I had purchased some things today in order to celebrate your success with the Water case… and I was quite looking forward to trying them out with you.”   
“Oh, did you you now?” Greg asked slyly, his voice deep. He smiled up at his partner, grateful that no matter what happened, Mycroft would always help and be there to make him feel better.   
“It’s a shame that I’m not getting credit for that anymore…” 

Mycroft leaned forward, pressing Gregory onto his back and leaving his hand firmly placed against his chest, and kissed him.   
“I won’t have that,” Mycroft whispered, “I’ll have you know I appreciate all of your _hard_ work, and I refuse to let your talents go unnoticed.” 

Greg swallowed at hearing Mycroft breath the word ‘hard’, his mouth suddenly dry. Mycroft kissed him again, his tongue gently probing against Greg’s lips. Greg relinquished control immediately; it was not often they partook in such kisses, as Mycroft was fairly aversive to mess (and germs, Greg assumed), and so he relished the experience when it happened. He hummed happily. 

“And so what was it you wanted to celebrate with?” Greg asked breathily, his nose mere millimetres from Mycroft’s. The British Government gave a sly smile, and stood. He fished about in the closet and pulled out a black paper bag. He approached the foot of the bed where Greg lay propped up on his elbows to get a better look. There was something innately predatory in the glare Mycroft was giving him, and Greg made no attempt to hide the affect it was having on him. 

“I thought the successful Detective Chief Inspector might appreciate showing off his skills of law enforcement and interrogation to one wickedly treacherous secret agent, hmm?” Mycroft mused, pulling out some black, fur-lined handcuffs from the bag. They were bulky, with large silver buckles on them, and a chunky double ended clip. Greg eyed them eagerly, making an involuntary moan as Mycroft took a step forward while holding them. He placed the cuffs on the bed, and reached back into the bag, revealing a bundle of rope that he rested upon the black leather.   
“However I must warn you, I am very adept to resisting interrogation. It will take a lot for you to get me to talk.” 

Mycroft’s words played havoc in Greg’s mind, and he felt his body pulse from excitement.   
“I’m sure these will be a useful addition to the tools at your disposal.” Mycroft continued, pleased with the reaction he was getting. He’d been curbing his desires for the hours it had taken Gregory to get home since he’d gone shopping; the anticipation had made him exceptionally excitable. He pulled out a sleek black silicone butt plug, and a black leather eye mask. 

“So, DCI Lestrade, now that you’ve caught me, what are you going to do with me?” Mycroft mused playfully, setting the empty bag on the floor and the remaining items on the bed. Greg sat upright, slid forwards, and then stood to stand pressed against Mycroft. He grabbed him by the lapels, not caring how expensive the suit was that he was crumpling, and kissed him forcefully. 

“I’m going to have you beg, Agent Holmes. You’re going to tell me what I want to hear, and then you’re going to beg me to finish you off.” Greg rasped into Mycroft’s ear. He could feel the body pressed against him shiver at his words, and he smiled in delight. 

He ran his hands down Mycroft’s lean body, pausing slightly at his belt, before sliding his hand down lower.   
“You’re concealing things from me, Agent Holmes, and that just won’t do.”  
“I’m not hiding anything, Detective. I’d say it was you with a hidden weapon.”   
“Oh, lippy aren’t we? I’ll just have to reveal it on my own, then, won’t I?” Greg teased, giving a gentle squeeze to the bulge in Mycroft’s crotch, eliciting a breathy moan from the man. 

He ran his hands up Mycroft’s body again, this time sliding his fingers underneath the suit jacket to slip it off those broad shoulders. He then expertly undid the tie, allowing it to drop to the floor, before he began work on the buttons. Mycroft’s hands raised, but before he could use them, Greg spoke.   
“Any resistance will be met by force, Agent. I suggest you surrender now.” 

Mycroft nodded obligingly, and let his hand fall back to his side. Gregory deftly undid his shirt buttons, and made quick work of the belt around his waist. He shivered as those strong hands ran their way along his bare chest. Gregory tugged the fabric out of his trousers, and then unzipped the front… allowing them to fall to his ankles. He stepped out of them gladly, having left his shoes at the door. Gregory shuck Mycroft’s shirt off his shoulders, and then swivelled them around so that Mycroft could be pushed backwards onto the bed. 

Slowly, Greg began to undress himself. He enjoyed the hungry look in his partner’s eye as he dropped his coat to the floor, his jacket too, and began to flick the buttons of his shirt undone. Greg himself enjoyed the view; Mycroft sitting there staring up at him in just his underwear… which were pleasantly strained to contain the bulge underneath. Greg tossed his shirt away, and gave himself a quick rub on his crotch for Mycroft’s benefit before doing away with his pants as well. The shoes were a bit more complicated to remove, however Greg decided to turn around and give his lover a nice long stare at his arse while he undid the laces. 

He turned around, now only in his underwear, and picked up the cuffs.   
“You have given me no choice but to restrain you, Agent Holmes.” Greg expressed as he leaned in to kneel over Mycroft on the bed.   
“You don’t have enough evidence to arrest me.” Mycroft sneered playfully.   
“That’s ‘sir’ to you, boy. And I think you’ll find I have plenty of evidence to make a case against you. Any more talk from you and I’ll have to tie you down as well.” Greg said forcefully, and noticed the involuntary jerking of muscles that rippled through Mycroft’s body at his words. 

After a quick inspection of the cuffs, he managed to affix one to Mycroft’s left wrist. He stopped before he went to roll the man over and cuff the other hand.   
“Myc, we need a safe word.”   
“I trust you, Gregory.”  
“I know, I trust you too… but I want to know when things are too much. You have to tell me when you’re uncomfortable with anything, including any amount of force I use. So that I know instantly to just stop.”  
“Alright, if that would make you comfortable. What did you have in mind?”

Greg honestly didn’t know. He screwed his face together and thought, looking about for hints. Then it just came to him out of nowhere.  
“How about ‘brolly’?”  
“Acceptable, however a safe word is best if it contains hard sounds so that it will not be mistaken during outcries of … another nature.”   
“Are you in the habit of calling out for your umbrella in the heat of the moment? That would explain your attachment to the thing…” Greg quipped, chuckling.   
“How about ‘tank’?”  
“Why ‘tank’?”   
“It is a short single syllable word containing two sharp consonants.”   
Greg shook his head.  
“No, it sounds too much like ‘take’, which is something I intend to hear you say in the moment. ‘Brolly’ it is.” 

Mycroft rolled his eyes but smiled, agreeing. He wasn’t going to forget the safe word, at least. 

“Good. Now that that’s out of the way…” Greg said, and forcefully flipped Mycroft over. He grabbed the man’s other wrist and cuffed it, clipping the two cuffs together behind his back. Greg then slipped his fingers into Mycroft’s underwear and pulled them down and off his legs. He stood up completely, instructing Mycroft to remain where he was, and then went to collect the lube from the drawer. 

“I think you’re going to need a little temptation to get you interested in complying with my demands.” Greg stated, returning to stand at the foot of the bed. He had a lovely view of Mycroft’s firm buttocks, his long legs dangling down off the edge, and his hands cuffed against his back.   
“Mmm, I’m going to enjoy this.” Greg mused, as he lubed up a finger and pressed it against Mycroft’s warm hole. He heard the man moan into the sheets. Greg teased him a little, spreading the lube around, before pushing his finger down to penetrate the tight muscle. 

Mycroft was finding it difficult to breathe in the linen, but he loved the feeling of being dominated by Gregory. His body tingled all over when he felt the man’s strong finger press into him. He heard the swish of material, knowing that Gregory had shed his last article of clothing. His heart thrummed in anticipation, and he even let out a muffled squeak as he felt Gregory kneel over him. He felt hot breath on the back of his neck.   
“This is better.” Gregory muttered, slipping the mask over his eyes. 

Greg slid back down Mycroft’s back, being sure to scrape down his spine with his fingernails gently as he went. He picked up the plug, and lubed it up liberally. He pressed the rounded tip at Mycroft’s entrance, and slowly pushed it in. He wasn’t sure how much experience the man had when it came to anal sex outside of what Greg himself had participated in, and so erred on the side of caution as to not hurt him. 

Moving his hips up into the air, Mycroft exhaled deeply as he felt the plug slide into him.   
“Now now, Agent, this is supposed to be an interrogation - you’re not supposed to be enjoying it. Unless you find my methods enticing?”  
“Oh, yes, sir.” Mycroft muttered.   
“Well, all the better to make you _come_ around and talk.” Greg slurred, running his hands up Mycroft’s legs and grasping the soft flesh of his buttocks in both hands. He then let his hands trail their way upwards, and grasped the bound arms. He shimmied himself up to lay pressed against Mycroft’s hot body, purposefully pressing his crotch into the small of Mycroft’s back. 

Pulsing shivers ran down Mycroft’s spine and pooled in his belly and crotch at the feeling of Gregory’s hardness pressing into the sensitive skin at the base of his back. He was disappointed when the contact ended and Gregory slid off him to the side, but then found himself being rolled onto his back. 

“My my, you are an enticing specimen, aren’t you?” Greg mused.   
“Lying to me won’t get me to be honest with you.” Mycroft stated, and Greg frowned. He wasn’t sure if this was still role play or if Mycroft honestly believed Greg didn’t find him physically attractive.   
“I might have to re think my attack plan here, I wouldn’t want to do anything to harm such a beautiful man… even if they are wanted for treason.” Greg stated, being sure to make it clear he was still playing to see what Mycroft’s response would be.   
“I have endured torture before, I will not cave.” 

Again, Greg was a little thrown if Mycroft was just really into his role or if he’d actually had to endure torture before. He shook his head softly to push the thoughts out of the way. It didn’t matter, they were having fun in the now.   
“You haven’t been subjected to my methods, though.” 

Mycroft smiled and turned his head to look at him, despite still wearing the blindfold.   
“Then begin, Detective Chief Inspector, by all means.” 

Greg reached out and ran his fingers down Mycroft’s chest, barely touching the skin, until he reached the base of his cock. He brushed the tip with said finger, eliciting a gentle whimper from Mycroft.   
“I see I am effective, then.” 

Mycroft said nothing. Greg smirked, and then wrapped his hand around Mycroft’s cock, giving it a gentle squeeze. He noted the expression on the man’s face, and then began softly stroking up and down.   
“I’m going to get it out of you eventually.” Greg said.  
“Not too soon, I hope.” Mycroft responded.   
“Cheeky bugger.” Greg laughed, and bent forward. He nuzzled the length with his nose, moving his hands lower to fumble with Mycroft’s bollocks. He flicked his tongue upon the swollen head, causing Mycroft’s body to jerk, and then encased him in one mouthful. 

Mycroft moaned loudly. He squirmed, fighting the urge to thrust up into Gregory’s mouth. The cuffs helped prevent him from running his fingers through his silver hair, only to grasp a hold of it. His body tingled and he broke out in gooseflesh; that man knew how to use his mouth. He breathed heavily each time Gregory slid down his shaft, his breath hitching occasionally as the detective would suck him, whimpering whenever he was released from the warm wetness of his mouth. 

“And so I ask you, Agent Holmes: what secrets did you reveal, and to whom?” Greg asked, his nose mere inches from Mycroft’s cock. His partner shook his head fervently.   
“I see I’m not getting anywhere yet.” Greg stated, and moved his hand to press the plug still lodged in Mycroft’s behind.   
“How about now? Feel like talking?”   
Another shake of the head.   
“Well, why don’t I just take some guesses as to whom?” Greg teased, and pulled at the plug. 

“Russia?” Greg asked, and tugged at the plug.   
“No.” Mycroft breathed. Greg hummed.   
“China?”   
“No.”

Greg tugged at the plug harder, causing it to slip out.   
“America?”  
“Of course not.” 

Greg pushed the plug back in, and stroked Mycroft’s aching member at the same time. He had to start making progress… he wasn’t sure how many countries he could remember right at that moment.   
“Korea?” Greg asked, still stroking Mycroft. He whimpered and nodded. 

“Oh, so Korea then. Good boy.” Greg played, and went down to suck him further. He could tell Mycroft was getting close, since his breaths were coming rapidly and his hips bucked involuntarily. He released the hard member from his mouth, being sure to let his tongue scrape the sensitive flesh as he let go. 

“You’ll not find out what.” Mycroft challenged, and he heard the distinctive pop of the lube cap in response. Greg slid a condom over himself, tingles shooting throughout his body at the contact. He’d been hard from the moment Mycroft showed him the cuffs, and so eagerly relished the contact. He spread the lube over himself, wiped his hand with the towel he’d dragged out along with it, and then turned to Mycroft.

“This’ll be easier if you lift up for a moment so I can put some pillows under you.” Greg said honestly. Mycroft nodded and used his legs to lift his waist into the air.   
“Hmmm, much better.” Greg mused as he positioned himself before his man. He ran his hand up long Mycroft’s length once again, and then back down over his balls and pressed into the perineum. Mycroft jerked and huffed at the sensation. 

Greg grasped the plug and pulled it out with a plop. He then pressed himself at the stretched opening, leaning forward. He groaned gutturally as his head slid inside, savouring the feeling of Mycroft’s tight warmth.   
“Ohhh fuck, Myc.” Greg let slip as he slowly pressed further inside. Mycroft chuckled amidst broken breaths.   
“En…enjoying yourself, Det…hnng… Detective?” He asked.   
“Oh yes.” Greg exhaled, halting his movements as the base of his length pressed against Mycroft’s arse. He released the man’s knees and used a hand to stroke him softly. 

“Hngk…ergh… What… what do you want from me?” Mycroft moaned in ecstasy.  
Greg leaned forward and whispered to him, “I want to hear you call my name as you come.”  
“Ohh… what about the secrets?”

Greg laughed.   
“Yes, well, they’ll come as well.” 

Mycroft hummed, in utter bliss at feeling Gregory filling him up. Shivers ran across his body as the man began to move. His sensitive skin felt each slide of Gregory’s hard member sliding in and out of him, his muscle involuntarily clenching at times. He wanted to grasp at the bed sheets, but his hands were firmly cuffed behind his back… which only heightened his excitement. 

Greg found that once he started, he quickly devolved into being desperately close. He tried to focus on other things to last longer, but the man before him riled him up so much it was a futile exercise. He was using his arms to hover above Mycroft, thrusting slowly. He sat more upright, moving Mycroft’s legs up over his shoulders, and held onto his legs to suddenly thrust harder. Judging my the moans escaping his lover’s mouth, he was doing something right. 

The heat in his belly was rising, he was panting from the exertion, and his bollocks were beginning to tighten against his body. He wasn’t going to last much longer if he continued this. Greg stilled his pace and let Mycroft’s legs fall back to the bed, much to the man’s disappointment.   
“Please…” Mycroft begged. 

_Oh but that is hot.  
_ Greg swallowed. 

“Only if you tell me what you told the Koreans.” Greg panted.   
“I… I … nothing.” Mycroft uttered, feeling the gentle touch of Gregory’s hand on his member.   
“Nothing?”  
“Yes. I … I told them nothing.” Mycroft breathed, obviously desperate. It seemed his partner was just as close as he was.   
“Well how can that be, if you are here for treason?” Greg asked, catching his breath and tantalisingly stroking Mycroft’s throbbing cock.   
“I lied.” Mycroft spoke, the desperation clear in his voice. “I let it slip to people that I had told secrets to the Koreans, but it was a lie.” 

Greg jerked his body a few times, angling his body so that his prick pressed against (where he hoped was) Mycroft’s prostate. Mycroft shouted, and Greg smiled knowing he’d hit his target.   
“Why?” Greg demanded, releasing is hand from around Mycroft.   
“Because… because I needed… needed to see you, Inspector.”   
“And why?” Greg continued to interrogate. Mycroft bit his lip. Greg responded to that with a few more well-aimed thrusts. 

“Because they say you’re the best… I had to know for myself!” Mycroft shouted, unable to contain himself much longer. Greg hummed in approval, his ego blossoming at Mycroft’s words.   
“Damned right.” He stated, thrusting into that sweet spot a few more times.   
“Please… Inspector…” Mycroft begged again, and the words still made Greg feel dizzy.   
“Only if you say my name.” Greg whispered.   
“Gregory.”   
“No… just Greg.” 

Mycroft bit his lip again. He had barely even thought to himself that shortening, and for some reason, it was incredibly sexy to be demanded to say it. He felt Gregory’s hand encase him again, and he moaned. He was so very close. He bucked up into the strong hand stroking him, Gregory’s cock sliding about inside him each time he did. It was threatening to overwhelm his senses… his whole body was tense, he was desperate for release… 

“Say it.” Greg pushed, knowing that Mycroft couldn’t see the large grin he had on his face.   
“Oh… oh… Gr… Greg!” Mycroft shouted as he came, spurting hot liquid into Greg’s hand and across his belly.   
“Ohh, good boy.” Greg cooed, stroking him over the edge. Mycroft was panting and squirming as his cock pulsed in Greg’s hand, spewing out the last dregs of ejaculate. Greg could almost have come himself then and there, watching Mycroft in euphoria while his cock was pulsed with the spasms of Mycroft’s orgasm. 

With slightly shaking hands, he held on to Mycroft’s hip as he started to pull himself out.   
“No.” Mycroft stated suddenly. Greg gave him an inquisitive look, and despite the mask, Mycroft answered him.   
“Want… you… finish… inside…” Mycroft panted, still reeling from the orgasm. 

Greg didn’t need more permission, and began to frantically thrust hard into Mycroft. It only took a few sporadic jerks, his pelvis slapping against Mycroft’s skin, to bring him to the edge. He then shouted as he came, spilling himself into the condom while buried inside his partner. He gripped onto Mycroft tightly as he pulsed, his nails digging in to the flesh ever so slightly. Mycroft made pleased noises as Greg gave a few soft thrusts to surf his orgasm. 

Greg pulled out and flopped beside Mycroft. He pulled the condom off as he softened and tied it before dropping it off the side of the bed. He then slid the mask off Mycroft’s face, and smiled into those shining eyes.   
“I love you.” Greg spoke, and kissed him briefly.   
“I love you too.” Mycroft answered. 

They were both still panting and unwilling to move, laying snug up together.   
“Gregory, dear… would you mind releasing me?”   
Greg chuckled and helped Mycroft roll onto the side so that he could free his hands. He then passed Mycroft some wipes, having realised how clean Mycroft preferred to be after their first encounter.   
“Thank you, dear.” Mycroft said as he took the wipes, cleaning all the fluids off himself. Greg was pleased to just watch, but then decided he might as well clean up a little as well. 

“Thanks, Myc.”   
“For?”  
“For making this a good day after all.”


	15. Making the Speech

Greg threw himself onto Sherlock’s couch in frustration. He only had an hour for lunch, and it was becoming clear that it was going to take a lot more time than that to help Sherlock write a best man’s speech. 

“No, Sherlock, I can’t just do it for you. John chose _you_ to be the best man, which means he expects _you_ to write the speech.” Greg grumbled, a hint of jealousy in his voice.  
“It’s not like he’d know!” Sherlock whined, spinning on the spot in his dressing gown.  
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he’d know, mate.”  
“But what am I supposed to _say_?” 

Greg eyed Sherlock as he pouted, refusing to give in. After some silence, Greg sighed.   
“Alright, well… why don’t you just start with what John means to you?”  
“Oh, yes, I’m sure that’ll go down well.” Sherlock muttered with a frown. He knew Greg knew about his affections. What was he supposed to say? ‘I wish I were your groom instead of your best man’? He knew he didn’t know a lot about social interactions, but he was fairly sure that wasn’t appropriate for a wedding. 

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.” Sherlock sighed, collapsing into his chair. Greg’s heart ached seeing him look so upset.   
“I know, mate.”   
“It’s not that I don’t like Mary… in fact, she’s by far the best match for John I’ve encountered. I guess that’s part of why it’s so hard. I could ignore all of John’s girlfriends because they were obviously incompatible with him. I didn’t have to worry about losing him.”   
“You’re not going to lose him. Mary likes you, she’ll want to keep you around as well.”  
“Yeah but I’d never be able to have him to myself.” 

Greg felt like he should go give him a hug. He knew that someone else would hear his words as selfish, but to Greg, he was practically mourning.  
“It’ll be ok, Sherlock. Life likes to throw challenges at us, and sometimes it seems impossible to overcome them… but there’s something better after you’ve gone through it all, trust me.” 

Sherlock was about to make a snide comment in return, but bit his tongue. Greg was right, and had been through enough himself recently to prove it. It wouldn’t be kind to snap at him when he’s only trying to help. It was just easier to push people away than deal with the emotions.  
_Much like John._

“Are you honestly still afraid that John won’t be around any more?”  
“Yes.”  
“Why?”  
“John will have his job, and then his home life, with Mary. He’ll stop visiting me even, let alone want to join me on cases.”   
“Have you talked about any of this with him?”  
“Of course not. John doesn’t handle difficult emotional confrontations well, and I fear he sometimes misinterprets my intentions.”

Greg reluctantly nodded. John did tend to do that, yeah. That damned temper of his often blinded him to the real issue at hand. Greg made a mental note to talk with both John and Mary later on about Sherlock’s concerns, see where they were at, and hopefully orchestrate some kind of resolution. He felt a rush of glee and adrenaline surge through him, and wondered if this was how Mycroft felt while meddling in other’s lives… it was certainly more understandable now why he did so. 

“Ok, come on. Let’s just start with some of the things you’ll have to talk about. The Telegrams.”  
“Pointless messages…”  
“No, an important tradition. You have to do them.”   
“Read all that soppy drama?”  
“Yes, Sherlock.”  
“Why?”  
“Because that’s your job!” Greg shouted, and Sherlock shut his mouth instantly. Sometimes it took a bit of force to get Sherlock to comply. 

“Very well. So, I read the Telegrams, and then what?”  
“Well, just … use those anecdotes you wanted.” Greg grumbled, still annoyed about last night.  
“Yes, which you still haven’t told me.”  
“You’re supposed to use your own, Sherlock. Not mine.” 

Sherlock growled in frustration.  
“I’m not good at this! I want to just … do something more comfortable. Can’t I just solve a murder for my speech instead or something?”

Greg chuckled.   
“Well, I doubt that, Sherlock. Look, why don’t you try composing something for them? I know you like to do that, and I’m sure John and Mary would appreciate it.”  
“Hmm, that’s not a bad idea, actually. But what does that have to do with the speech? I mean, I can’t just say nothing and play…”  
“Yeah, well, I was thinking more that if you cock it up, they’ll enjoy your music and not be so upset.” Greg laughed, and snorted even louder when he saw Sherlock’s indignant face. 

“Yes, well… I guess that’s likely, isn’t it? Doesn’t even really matter what I say then! I’ll just be my usual arrogant arsehole self, and then wait for John’s forgiveness after hearing my waltz for them. John is, after all, the kindest man I know… well, after you of course. Look, I never expected to be John’s best friend anymore and so I certainly didn’t expect to be his best man, so I really don’t know what I am supposed to say.”   
“Yeah… well… tweak that a little and you could include that in your speech.”  
“Serious?”  
“Sure. I mean, take out the parts about it not mattering what you say and the mention of me and you’d be good to go. Now, why don’t you talk a bit about when he asked you to be best man?” Greg chuckled. Sherlock raised his eyebrow. 

“Alright… well, I guess I could…I mean, I didn’t know what to say. Turns out that I didn’t say anything. I was too overwhelmed from hearing him say he loved me.”   
“WHAT?” Greg shouted, spluttering.   
“Oh, I didn’t mention that?”  
“No, you didn’t.” Greg uttered, eyes wide. No wonder Sherlock was conflicted about his feelings more so than usual. “What did he say?”  
“He said… he wants to be up there with the two people he loves. Mary, and myself.”  
“Oh. Sorry, not what I thought you meant… I mean, yeah that’s a lot for him to come out and say, but Sherlock… I’m…I’m sorry, that doesn’t really mean what you hoped it would mean.”  
“Obviously,” Sherlock grumbled in resentment, “As much as I would have loved for him to profess feelings for me, I know he doesn’t think of me that way. He chose Mary, and I am not going to stand in the way of his happiness.”  
“I think he did, Sherlock, you know.” 

Sherlock frowned and looked at Lestrade. He wasn’t lying, and he looked exasperated.  
“Did he say something?”  
“No, but Mycroft did. And there were signs. I mean we think he did love you but was too trapped in his own ideas of his sexuality to do anything about it or even realise…”  
“I’m not interested in the gossiping you do with my brother.”

Greg sighed and let his head fall into his hands. He knew Sherlock was pushing the idea away since it was easier than coping with the idea that John did return his affections once, but has moved on now. It was indeed rather complicated for Sherlock. He took a deep breath, and just tried to focus on the matter at hand. The speech.  


“Back to the speech, Sherlock. Just… talk about your time together, some of the things you’ve done with him. That should be comfortable enough for you.”  
“So. Him asking me to be the best man minus the love feelings, Telegrams, our adventures together, me being an obnoxious arsehole and him being a wonderfully kind man to tolerate me minus any mentions of you.” Sherlock surmised.   
“Yeah, throw in a few insults and you’re good to go.” Greg joked.   
“Insults?”  
“Yeah, cause then no one would doubt that it was really you who wrote the speech.” Greg laughed, with a vague sense that Sherlock couldn’t tell he was joking. Greg cleared his throat.  
“But, be sure to say some kind things and some praises in there.” Greg added. 

Sherlock slowly inclined his head. Greg could tell he was withdrawing into his mind, and it was likely he wasn’t going to be all that talkative from now on. It was about time for him to leave anyway. 

“Well, I’ve gotta get back to work, Sherlock. Text me if you need any more help, ok?” 

Greg stood, and looked at Sherlock whom had assumed his ‘thinking’ pose. He grunted in his direction, and so Greg just nodded and left the man to think. 


	16. Mary Intervenes

Mary handed Greg a cup of tea. She stood at the bench with John, who also took his cup, and put the kettle away.   
“So, how are the wedding plans going?” Greg asked, taking a sip while standing.  
“Yeah, alright.” John answered, asking with his hands if Greg wanted to sit at the table. Greg nodded. 

Mary and John joined him.   
“There’s so much to do.” Mary said, sounding a little overwhelmed.   
“And so many decisions to make!” John added.   
“Oh, and I haven’t received your RSVP yet, Greg.” Mary pointed out. Greg cleared his throat.  
“Erm, sorry about that. Yeah, put me and Mycroft down as attending. I haven’t really spoken with him about it to be honest… other things have always come up.” 

Mary smiled, making a mental not to herself.   
“So, what’s on your mind, Greg?” John asked.   
“It’s Sherlock.”   
“What’s wrong?” Mary enquired, and Greg was glad to hear genuine concern in her voice.   
“Well, he’s not coping with the changes very well. He’s freaking out, basically. He messaged me in a panic to help him with his best man speech. I actually was there a couple of days ago, and he was still working on it. He hadn’t gotten very far, mind. I helped where I could, but mostly it was just clear that he’s dreading the wedding.”  
“Why would he do that?”

“Seriously, John? Don’t you see?” Mary answered before Greg could speak. John raised his eyebrow at her.   
“He obviously thinks that once you’re married, you’re going to leave him. You’re clearly very important to him - possibly the MOST important person to him - and so he’s thinking that the wedding is the last time he’ll see you.”  
“Mary, I don’t think he’d take it that far… I mean, of course I’m still going to see him.”

Greg opened his mouth to talk, but remained being cut off by the couple chatting. 

“He’s a drama queen, you know that. Of course he’s going to catastrophise it. You need to make it clear to him that it won’t change anything.”  
“But I thought I did that!” John protested.  
“Just saying that nothing will change without giving him any proof that he’s still included isn’t going to make him believe you.” Mary stated with an air of finality, and took a sip of her mug. 

Greg blinked a few times, a bit surprised that Mary had been the one to tell John everything he’d been intending to say. He smiled at her warmly. He really did like her, and she made John better. John grumbled to himself. 

“Well what am I supposed to do then? To show him he’s still included?”  
“Why don’t you get him to help out with the wedding plans?” Greg offered, and they both looked at him.  
“What? You were just saying that there was so much to still do and so little time to do it in.” 

Mary looked at John.   
“That would work.”   
“But that’s supposed to be our thing.” John protested. “What, you want him to come cake tasting with us?”  
“No… just let him be involved a little. Help with the seating arrangements and such… those kind of boring necessities that his logical brain would excel at. Give him little tasks that don’t really matter either way to us.”

John sighed and smiled at Mary.   
“You, my dear, are amazing. I can’t tell you what it means to me that you are so willing to have Sherlock included.”  
“Yeah, well, I know what he means to you.” Mary responded, giving Greg a knowing smile of which he was unprepared for. Mary knew John has feelings for him? Well at least she’s fine with that and including him so much in spite of that knowledge…

“I think he’d get bored pretty quick with wedding plans, though,” Greg said, “And it might just reinforce the idea that everything’s changing and it’s all about the wedding now.”  
“Hmm, you’re right about that.” John pondered.   
“Take him out on cases. Run him. Make him see that he’s involved in the wedding and our lives, and that you’re still going to spend time with him like the old days.” Mary offered with delight.   
“Seriously?” John questioned.  
“Yeah, it’d do you both good I think.” Mary said, finishing off her tea.   
“Got any cases available, Greg?” John asked, turning his attention to Greg. He shook his head.  
“Sorry, mate. Nothing interesting going on right now. Maybe some of your fans from your blog have something interesting.” 

“They’re not fans, they’re clients.” John corrected. Greg just chuckled and drank his tea. 

~

“Hey, Sherlock, it’s Mary.”   
“Hello, Mary.” Sherlock answered into the phone.  
“Listen, I’ve got a bit of a favour to ask of you.”

Sherlock listened to Mary talk of how much there was to do before the wedding, and how she wanted his help to get it done in time. He chuckled softly upon hearing that John was not very helpful in making decisions quickly. He reminded her of the difficulty the invitations alone had caused from John’s middle name, and received a laugh in response. 

“So, what do you say, Sherlock? Can you help me?”  
“Of course, Mary, I would be honoured to assist you in your preparations.” Sherlock stated, trying to not make it clear how eager he was.  
“Oh, and there’s one more thing. It’s about John.” Mary added. Sherlock’s interest perked. 

“He’s been getting frustrated with all of this planning. He tries to hide it but he’s not doing a good job. Could you try finding a case for him and taking him out? Something to get him out of the house and thinking about something other than just flowers or colour schemes… run him, like old times. It’d do him good.” Mary said happily. Sherlock’s heart leapt. Mary wanted him to take John away without her? Even just for a few hours? It was more than he could have hoped for. 

“What would John say about that, though?” Sherlock asked cautiously, not wanting to overstep any boundaries that John might have placed.  
“Oh, I think he’d love it. Listen, we’ll come over soon and bring all of the planning things we have. You can help for a bit, and then find a case to take him out on. I’m sure after a few hours he’ll be the one searching for something to do.” 

Sherlock grinned.  
“Certainly. I will see you soon.”

He hung up the phone, and jumped into the air. He quickly straightened himself and eyed about to make sure Mrs Hudson hadn’t seen. It was the best news he’d heard in a while. It seemed Greg was right in saying John still wanted him around. He wanted to hug Mary for allowing him to stay involved in their lives: he’d known many people in John’s life who were not so willing to share him. He was positively glowing. 


	17. Not Going

Sherlock reluctantly walked into his brother’s house - the manor, not the ridiculous work flat he kept. He hadn’t been invited, but he just had to know the solution to the guardsmen attempted murder. He’d been thinking about it for days, and he found that he was unable to give the wedding his full attention while the case remained unsolved. As much as he hated asking for Mycroft’s help, he decided that just this once he would concede to his brother’s intellectual superiority. That meant, in no way, that he was happy about it. Infuriated was more like it. 

Greg froze when he saw Sherlock in the hallway.   
“Sherlock?”  
“Lestrade.” Sherlock grumbled, continuing to walk towards him.   
“What are…”  
“Where’s Mycroft?” Sherlock demanded.   
“Upstairs…” Greg answered, still confused. Sherlock didn’t bother answering Greg’s unspoken questions and shot past him up the staircase. 

“Myc! Sherlock’s here!” Greg shouted out after him, just to be sure Mycroft was ready to receive his brother. He then continued to put his dirty cup in the sink, and slowly followed. He could hear parts of the conversation as he approached; mostly Sherlock shouting or grumbling. He was in a very bad mood indeed. Mycroft sounded annoyed, but tired. 

He walked into the room - Mycroft’s upstairs study - and saw Mycroft standing by the window and Sherlock scowling at him.   
“What’s going on?” Greg asked as he walked into the room.   
“My brother here is demanding information from me. The usual.” Mycroft answered, despite not taking his eyes off his brother.   
“I have important things to be getting on with Mycroft! Just tell me the answer, and I’ll leave.”  
“No, Sherlock. That is your business, not mine, and I don’t want to involve myself.”  
“But it’s important!”  
“Hardly, I doubt it will have much significance in your life beyond another report on John’s blog. Besides, brother mine, it’s cheating.”  
“Is not!” Sherlock pouted. 

Greg still didn’t really understand what was happening, but had learnt early on to stay out of Holmes brotherly arguments. Sherlock became childish, vile, and vindictive. Mycroft became overbearing and insufferably condescending. Yes, it was best to just make sure neither party caused physical damage and leave them to it. 

Mycroft sighed.   
“Let it go, Sherlock.”  
“Oh, of course you’d say that. Maybe you’re not be smart enough to figure it out either, and instead of just saying so, you continue to be a pompous git and make it out like you’re oh so high and mighty.”   
“I assure you, Sherlock, I do know what happened to your guard victim. I of course do not know why, as you have explained merely the situation you found him in, however I do not feel the need to disclose the solution to your problem. It is YOUR problem, Sherlock, and I’m sure if you work that little brain of yours, you’ll work it out eventually.” 

Sherlock snorted. He was running out of ways to make his brother answer him. Simply shouting insults at him only served to annoy him. But, it seemed that he wasn’t getting anywhere, so why not?  
“Mycroft, you corpulent waste of space! Fine! Keep your oh-so-elegant solution stacked away with your mountain of cake. Be sure to attempt to restrain yourself at the reception, brother, as you may find yourself dragged away naked! Your suits barely stretch over your rotund body as it is!” Sherlock shouted, stomping his foot; and spun around and stormed off. 

Greg wasn’t really sure what Sherlock had just said, but it involved cake, and so he assumed that he’d called Mycroft fat again. The ‘waste of space’ comment was also rather uncalled for. Mycroft seemed uncharacteristically hurt by the words, and stood stoic by the window until he heard the front door slam shut. Greg took a few steps forward.  


“Just ignore him, Myc.” Greg said. Mycroft didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move. His lip trembled slightly and Greg saw tears forming in his eyes.   
“Oh, Myc.” Greg uttered and hugged him close. “He was just trying to hurt you, like he always does when he doesn’t get his way.”   
“It’s true, though.” Mycroft managed to mutter into Gregory’s ear.   
“No, it’s not. You look wonderful, my dear.”  
“My suits are getting tight again.” Mycroft stated dejectedly, as if it was one of the worst things to happen to him. 

Greg released him and held his shoulders firmly, looking straight into his eyes. 

“Now you listen to me, Mycroft Holmes. I love you, and I honestly do not care what you weigh. If you want to lose weight, I’ll support you, but only because I want you to be happy - not because I want you to feel you need to do so for my sake. If you gain more, then that’s fine by me… I do always like a little bit of pudge to snuggle into.” Greg said, smiling. Mycroft returned his smile, but it remained sad.   
“Sherlock discovered early on that my weight was the perfect ammunition for him.”  
“Yeah, well, he’s a bit of a bastard sometimes.” Greg said casually, using his thumb to softly stroke Mycroft’s cheek. 

“Come on, why don’t you get your sexy arse into one of your fancy suits and we’ll head out to our lunch reservation?” Greg said happily, giving his partner a wink.   
“I… I do not wish to go anymore.” Mycroft said.   
“Why? You’re going to let Sherlock’s bad mood spoil our lunch?” Greg asked, realising after he spoke that it could have been interpreted as mean. He certainly didn’t intend that.   
“I have lost my appetite. I do not want to make you feel awkward by eating in front of me whilst I refuse to.”   
“Mycroft… you can’t starve yourself, that’s bad for you.”  
“It has never mattered if it is bad for me, the desire is always there regardless.” Mycroft stated, hanging his head. 

Greg was starting to get a sense of how deep and complicated Mycroft’s body issues were, and his probable eating disorder. He wasn’t really sure how to continue the conversation and remain sounding supportive. 

“Have… have you always had difficulty with that? Like, eating and stuff?” Greg asked cautiously.   
“I don’t know about always, but for a very long time. I was quite portly as a child and teenager. I fought myself often regarding eating. Sherlock was a child and would only notice my love of cakes, not the internal struggle associated with them. I would starve myself regularly, and then pudge back out not long after resuming eating. It was clear that starvation wasn’t a solution. Those times I’d get particularly depressed about it, thinking nothing I did mattered, I would binge out and eat the things that I restricted myself from - cake included - and Sherlock seems to only remember those instances.”   
“Why does he still torment you about it? I mean, you clearly are not fat anymore.” Greg asked, hoping his comment wouldn’t trigger his partner.   
“It has remained a constant struggle to maintain my weight, and often I find myself gaining without changing my behaviour. I’ve been less than vigilant lately in my comfort with you, I regret, and I have found my outfits clinging uncomfortably to my middle.” 

“Well I haven’t noticed.” Greg stated blankly, “Nor do I really care if that’s the case.”   
Mycroft shuffled his feet nervously. Greg let his shoulders go, and stood looking at his partner with a concerned, yet loving, expression.   
“I don’t mean to be dismissive of your struggles, Myc. Really. I just don’t want you to get too hung up on this problem, and hope that you knowing that for me it’s not an issue might make it easier for you.”  
“I appreciate your efforts, Gregory.”   
“So… lunch?” 

Mycroft hung his shoulders and sighed.   
“As much as I dislike being forced into eating, your charms make it bearable. And I guess it’s better than the usual ignorance or even encouragement I received for starving.”  
“What? Encouragement?” Greg asked incredulously.   
“Indeed. As you may not know, the general population believes that only emaciated persons are capable of having an eating disorder. Larger people showing the same signs are either ignored, or even encouraged to continue their self destructive behaviour.”   
“So people see you starving and praise you for it?”  
“Unfortunately. Which of course serves to make the problem worse, as it engrains in one’s mind that you are indeed worthless and unworthy of care for behaviour others would get help for.” 

Greg frowned. He hugged his partner again.   
“I don’t know what your childhood was like much, Myc, but that sounds horrible. I’m sorry you had to go through that.” 

Mycroft allowed himself to sink into Gregory’s embrace, and hold him close. Greg kissed him, and then broke the hug with a smile.   
“But hey, you’d be getting a new suit for the wedding anyway, right? So what does it matter if it’s a bit bigger than the others?” Greg suggested.   
“No, I am not attending.” 

Greg laughed.   
“Of course you are. Don’t let Sherlock intimidate you.”  
“No, he’s not. I’m just not going.” 

Greg paused and frowned at him. He sounded serious.   
“You… really? And when were you going to tell me?”   
“I did not receive an invitation, Gregory.”   
“Yeah well John and Mary _know_ you’ll be coming as my date, and… as a matter of fact… I think you were invited.” Greg stated, and turned to rifle through a drawer. He tried three more before he found what he was after: his invitation.   
“See? I gave this to you when I got it.” 

Mycroft looked at the card and read that it was indeed addressed to both of them. He flushed red in embarrassment.   
“Hey, it’s fine, so you are invited after all.” Greg beamed hopefully.  
“It does not matter, I still am not attending.”   
“Mycroft! Bugger Sherlock and his big mouth! You’re going as my date, and I’m going to show you off to everyone that I managed to bag Sherlock’s sexy big brother.”

Mycroft looked panicked. His breath quickened and his eyes began to flicker about. Greg noticed that his body had started to shake.   
“Myc?” 

Mycroft felt like he couldn’t breathe. The idea of going to the wedding, where there were so many people… it made his chest feel tight and he just wanted to escape. He began to heave for air.   
“Myc! Calm down!” Greg snapped worriedly. Mycroft was having another panic attack.   
“Come on, come sit at the desk before you fall over.” Greg said soothingly as he guided Mycroft to the chair. Mycroft didn’t object, and willingly followed. Greg knelt before him.  
“Now, try take some slow, regular breaths for me.”   
Mycroft nodded and attempted to get control of his breathing. He hated this. He hated breaking down, hated being unable to maintain control of himself and his emotions. 

“No… no, whatever you were thinking - don’t. It’s making things worse.” Greg stated, noticing Mycroft’s mind whirling and his panic exacerbating.   
“Just focus on me. Copy me.” Greg said, glad that he’d researched what to do in these situations. He made exaggerated breaths, complete with indicative hand gestures. After a few moments, Mycroft calmed down. He was still shaky, but at least mostly in control again. Greg stood and rubbed circles on the man’s back.

“It’s… it’s not just about what he said, is it?” Greg asked, sighing. He did honestly want to flaunt his man about, but not if it was going to be traumatic for him.   
“No.” Mycroft said quietly.  
“Then tell me what’s up.” Greg said understandingly. Mycroft eyed him, and then nodded. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to be there for you, Gregory. It’s … the people. There’s going to be so many people, in a small confined space, for a long time. But not just any people - people that are judgemental of me. They will be staring at us, and judging if I am a suitable person for you. And since it _is_ a social occasion, I will not be able to use my standard façade to deal with being around such a large group of people. I cannot be cold, detached, and uncaring, at a wedding whilst in the company of my partner. That wouldn’t be fair on you either. I would get anxious at them, and that would devolve into less than favourable behaviour towards you. And the last thing I want is to offend you, or upset you in any way…”  
“I get it, Myc.”  
“And… you…you do?” Mycroft asked.   
“Yeah. I’m glad that you told me. I can see how it’d be an overwhelming experience for you. Sure, I’ll be sad and lonely… but I get it. I don’t want to make you do anything that uncomfortable for you.” 

Mycroft leaned backwards and let his head rest on Gregory.   
“I do not know what I have done to deserve you, my dear.”

Greg chuckled and bent over to kiss him on the top of his head.   
“I do expect to be compensated, however.” Greg said playfully.   
“Oh? And how might I do that?”   
“I’ll leave that up to you to decide. I’d like to be surprised. As long as it involves food, pampering and your sexy arse, I’m good.” 

Mycroft blushed and smiled.   
“That can be arranged.” 


	18. Stag Morning

Greg woke to the sound of his phone ringing. He sighed and sat upright in bed.   
“Lestrade.” He answered groggily, still struggling to keep his eyes open.   
“Who’s that?” Mycroft mumbled from beside him. Greg just shrugged as he listened to the voice on the other line.   
“I have you as the contact person for Sherlock Holmes.”  
“Yeah, that’s me.” Greg answered, suddenly feeling a lot more awake. What had Sherlock gotten himself into this time?  
“Well he’s currently being detained in the overnight cells at New Scotland Yard.”   
“What’s he done now?”  
“I’m sorry, sir?”  
“No, sorry, I’m just waking up. Give me half an hour and I’ll be there.”  
“Yes sir. Thank you.” 

Greg hung up the phone. He let himself fall backwards in the bed, groaning.   
“What’s up?” Mycroft slurred from beside him.   
“Your bloody brother, that’s what.” Greg griped, playfully shoving Mycroft’s arm.  
“Greg’ry, stop it.” Mycroft uttered sleepily. It was supposed to be a slow morning for the both of them - they’d organised to have the morning off to spend some time together. They’d stayed up quite late expecting to be able to sleep until at least nine. 

Greg sighed and got up. Maybe, if he was quick, he could bail Sherlock out and return home to still have some wonderfully tender morning sex with his boyfriend. That thought seemed to motivate him enough to dress quickly.  
“I’ll be back in about an hour, Myc. You stay put there.” Greg instructed. Mycroft hummed in agreement. 

At the Yard, Greg walked up to the desk sergeant and requested the information regarding Sherlock’s imprisonment. The young man seemed shocked that Greg was actually Detective Chief Inspector Lestrade. Obviously, Sherlock had just written “Greg Lestrade” on his contact form in the system, and no one made the connection.

“So, what’s he done?” Greg asked, sitting himself down with the sergeant.   
“He and a Dr John Watson were apprehended for disorderly contact resulting from inebriation.”   
“John’s here too? Blimey, what’s gotten into those two? Ah… wait.” Greg said, suddenly realising what had happened.   
“Sir?”  
“Stag night. It must have been John’s stag night.”  
“Right, well… they were taken to a flat by…”  
“That’s alright, sergeant, I’ll take it from here.”  
“Sir, I can’t just let them go.”  
“I’m not asking you to. I’m going to take them into my custody and reprimand them accordingly. I trust that no charges were filed against them?”  
“No, sir. Just the disorderly conduct.”   
“Great. I’ll see to it.”  
“Yes sir.”

Greg smiled to himself. It was nice being important sometimes. But he was rather hurt that he hadn’t even been _invited_ to the bachelor party.  
_I mean, sure, I get that John wants to spend time with Sherlock… oh, it was probably Sherlock’s plan. Sherlock didn’t want me to intrude on their moment._

Greg grumbled and sighed to himself. He understood Sherlock’s motives for excluding him, but still felt annoyed enough to yell at them sadistically while they were hung over. It was a small retribution, but one he felt he deserved.

He called a taxi and watched as the pair of men attempted to clamber in.  
“‘m sorry.” Sherlock mumbled at him before he bent down to sit in the taxi. Greg nodded at him. He was glad to have gotten an apology at least. And he was secretly pleased that their night seemed to not go as well as they planned. 

Greg ran his fingers through his hair, and walked back to his car. At least he had a lovely man awaiting him in his bed. 

~

It was lunch time by the time Greg arrived at 221B Baker Street. He wasn’t due at work for another hour, but he wanted to go make sure John and Sherlock were alright. He also needed to tell them that Mycroft wasn’t attending the wedding. 

“Well, you obviously had a pleasant morning.” Sherlock stated after a quick glance in his direction. Greg grinned back at him. He wasn’t embarrassed that he was having sex with Mycroft.  
“Yeah better than you, it seems.” Greg responded. Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

Greg walked in, greeted John who walked in with a cup of tea and offered him one, and looked about the flat.   
“So what’s with all the, er, laptops, then?” Greg asked.   
“For a case.”  
“Oh? What case?”  
“The one we screwed up last night.” John interjected.   
“What? You worked a case last night?”  
“Yes. We’d come home after being out drinking. I still don’t know what happened - I calculated everything precisely!”  
“Oh, uh… I may have … slipped a few shots into our drinks.” John added nervously. Sherlock glared at him, but then smiled and rolled his eyes.   
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Turns out it was just some sad married bastard out for some fun.” John said.  
“Oh.” Greg said, not sure what to say to that. 

“Well, speaking of, before I forget again… Mycroft’s not coming to your wedding.” Greg addressed John.   
“What? Why not?”  
“Because this dickhead called him fat.” Greg said with a sneer, indicating towards Sherlock with his thumb. 

John sighed.   
“Sherlock.” He stated with a threatening tone that Greg had learnt to mean ‘start talking, quickly.’  
“What? It’s true.”  
“No, Sherlock, it’s not. And it most certainly isn’t kind. What made you insult him like that anyway?”  
“He wouldn’t give me information I needed.”  
“Is that all? You didn’t get some information, so you decided to insult him to his core?”  
“I call him out on his weight all the time, he wasn’t supposed to take it so seriously. I guess domestic bliss has had an unfortunate effect on his waistline, and he’s been upset about it. I didn’t expect him to be so hurt.”

Greg wanted to set things straight then and there, but knew getting angry wouldn’t help. And he sure as hell wasn’t about to let Sherlock know the real, or rather, main reason Mycroft wasn’t going. 

“You’ve known him all your life, I’m sure you’re aware of his eating disorder.”  
“Wait, what?” John piped up.  
“Yeah, he doesn’t really talk about it. He has some serious body image/self esteem issues that have gotten to the point of an eating disorder. Made all the worse by him.” Greg ranted, flicking his head in Sherlock’s direction. Sherlock at least had the decency to look sheepish. John glared at him.

“Apologise to him.” He commanded. Sherlock looked like he wanted to argue, but the look Captain Watson gave him made him reconsider. He nodded, but then left to his bedroom to sulk. 

Greg looked at John in awe.   
“You’ve got to teach me how to do that.”   
“Sorry mate, some things only the army can teach you.” John laughed.   
“Well it was worth a try.”   
“Hey, listen… I’m sorry that you never got invited to the stag night.” John said seriously.   
“It’s alright, John. Sherlock was no doubt the one to plan it all.”  
“Yeah, but had I known what he’d planned, I would have asked you to come.” 

Greg smiled, happy that his friend wanted him around.   
“Thanks. I mean yeah, I was a bit upset you didn’t invite me at first… but realised that it was all Sherlock’s doing and it made sense.”  
“How so?”  
“Well he likes to pretend that we aren’t that close so that he feels like he has two separate friends. I don’t know if he just wants to feel loved by two different parties, or if he’s worried we’ll buddy up together and exclude him. Or maybe just he wants you all to himself.”  
“Is that why he always calls you Gavin or Geoff or Graham around me?”

He laughed hard and sighed.  
“Yeah, probably. It was originally just a game we’d play together, kinda like a mate’s in-joke. He liked that he was in on the joke for once. And it just became affectionate after that. But yeah, I hadn’t really thought of it as him using it to distance me while around you - though it probably makes sense. Sometimes I wonder about that crazy genius brain of his…”

John joined Greg’s laughter for a while longer; long enough for Sherlock to appear out of his room and give them both a hateful glare. Which, of course, only made them laugh more. Sherlock rolled his eyes and returned to his room, slamming the door. 

“So,” John began, “I have been meaning to ask you.”  
“Hm?” Greg asked, turning his head away from Sherlock’s door and in to John’s direction.   
“Are things with you and Mycroft alright now?”  
“Yeah, great really. I mean it was a bit tough at first to get back into the rhythm of things after that issue hanging over our heads… but honestly I think it’s been for the better. Myc has been a lot more open to me since, and generally a lot more affectionate and open to taking risks.”  
“Oh, well, that’s good to hear then.”  
“Yeah. I mean before, I don’t know if he would have tried…”  
“Greg, do I really want to know?” John quickly interjected.  
“Erm…yeah, maybe not.” Greg grinned. John cleared his throat. 

“So yeah what I really wanted to ask was… are you still going to propose to him? I mean, before Sherlock came back you were pretty fixated on doing it…”

Greg’s stomach dropped and he coughed nervously. He hadn’t really thought about it that much… unless he was honest with himself, in which case he had thought about it often.  
“Um… yeah, yeah I think I am. I mean I wanted to see how things went a little first after Sherlock came back, to really see if he’d actually make the changes he’d promised. And so far he has… I mean, when Sherlock came in and called him fat: he was immediately open with me about it. That just wouldn’t have happened before. He’s really trying… still. It wasn’t just a, you know, ‘do it for a week to shut me up’, kind of deal.”

John clasped his hand over Greg’s shoulder and shook it supportively.  
“Great to hear it, mate. You both deserve to be happy. I realise that’s not always easy, especially with his Royal Grumpiness over there, but I am honestly glad things worked out. For us all, really.” 

Greg nodded and gave a boyish grin.   
“I’ve been accidentally calling him my fiancé in my head, honestly. It almost slipped twice now.”  
“Sounds like you’d better ask before you let it slide over breakfast.” John chuckled.  
“Yeah… I just… I don’t know the right time, and I want it to be special, but I don’t know how to do that… I mean, I’m not exactly the most romantic guy about.” Greg mumbled nervously. 

“If it’s any help, I think Mycroft appreciates every little thing you do. He’s not had a whole lot of experience in these things, and sounds like he never really expected to be treated in this manner… so try not to worry about it being up to standards or anything. Just make it special for you, and it’ll be special for him.”  
“Thanks John. That did help, yeah.” 

Greg told John he’d better get to work, and so called out a loud ‘see ya’ to Sherlock. John chuckled and went to resume his final wedding preparations that Mary had instructed him to do, and Greg left the flat for work. 


	19. The Wedding

 

**\- And so is it as dreadful as I predicted? MH**   
**\- It’s nice, but yeah, very crowded. The church was cramped, and this hall isn’t much better. How they managed to seat everyone I don’t know.**   
**\- Oh my god, Myc, you were right. John’s old commander just rocked up, and he’s doting over him.**   
**\- I think you’ll find I am almost always right, my dear. MH**   
**\- Sure, sure.**   
**\- Please tell me you’re looking at Sherlock’s reaction. MH**   
**\- Oh if only I could take a photo. He’s so jealous. Good thing the guy’s a war hero, or I’d be worried Sherlock might try to take him out.**   
**\- It would have almost been worth attending to see that look on Sherlock’s face. MH**   
**\- You could still come, you know.**   
**\- No, I’m about to start my run. Talk to you after his speech - I want details. MH**

Greg didn’t care that he was on his phone for most of the reception. He, of course, put it away while Mycroft exercised, and for the dinner. Thankfully he’d been seated besides Mrs Hudson and Molly, and so he had company to talk with.

And then it was the dreaded moment: the speech. It had started out as expected, and Greg noticed many things in there that he’d suggested Sherlock include - occasionally word for word. But somehow, he managed to pull it off. People were actually moved by it… and John was hugging him. Greg wished it was on video somewhere, but decided Mycroft could interpret the recording he was making with some descriptions. 

Greg was thrown a bit when Sherlock asked him to explain the locked room murder. He’d been daydreaming a little fancifully about how his wedding with Mycroft might look, and suddenly felt panic at proving his worth. His solution was not ideal, even he knew that once he’d said it. But, he couldn’t do anything about that. 

And then it got …weird. Something was wrong. Greg was worried Sherlock was panicking so much his thought processes were becoming muddled up - particularly when he exclaimed ‘murder’. Sherlock’s words rung through his head: _can’t I just solve a murder or something?_ And then he got a text message that was clearly _not_ from Mycroft. Adrenaline surged through his body as he left the room. Trust a wedding Sherlock was attending to need to be locked down. He made the call easy enough, and local police were to be there soon. He considered calling Mycroft… but there wasn’t really much point. 

So, he stood out near the front door, unable to hear the rest of what was happening. He tapped his foot impatiently. He eyed John’s commander leaving the hallway and walk up the stairs to his room, no doubt. Nothing suspicious there. Well, until suddenly Sherlock, John, and then Mary, followed him in a panic. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but he had to stay at his post as requested. 

Before long, some frazzled guests started spilling out towards him. He couldn’t answer their questions, and had to just tell them to stay inside the building at all times. He also couldn’t explain why. He did try to convince them that everything was fine, just a little emergency, but he wasn’t sure if anyone bought it. 

He decided to go and ask Sherlock and John what was going on, and if the guests could be allowed to leave the building. He followed the sounds of talking until he was faced with an open door, and inside, all four of them. 

“Hey, um, can I tell the guests that everything’s fine yet… what’s going on?” Greg asked, noticing their worried faces, and John helping the military man onto the bed.   
“James has been stabbed.” John informed him.  
“Oh god…”  
“Yes, delayed action stabbing…the same as the bloody guardsman, actually. Small wound through the tight belt, keeping everything in place until…” Sherlock ranted quickly, before Mary shot him a look.   
“Right, well… hang on, you’re not going to do anything here, are you?” Greg asked, suddenly worried.  
“What?” John asked.   
“Well, he’s not bloody dying yet, is he? Surely you’re going to just take him to the hospital _before_ he starts bleeding out?”

All four of them froze upon hearing Greg’s words, and John looked rather sheepish. 

“Uh, yeah…yeah, of course.” John muttered, retracting his hands from James’ body. Greg eyed him warily. John could be a bit gung-ho at times, and leap into things before thinking. Greg was honestly glad he’d interrupted them in time before they realised their mistake.   
“Alright, well, shall I call an ambulance then?”  
“No, just take me to the hospital. I’m in no danger so long as I continue wearing my uniform.” James spoke, a little begrudgingly.   
“And be sure to bring the photographer back with you.” Sherlock added. 

Greg frowned. _He_ was taking the man to the hospital? And what’s this about the photographer?   
“Yeah, alright.” Greg stated in a bit of a daze. He waited for the commander to stand, with John’s help, and then they all walked out of the room. Greg pulled out his phone to google the nearest hospital, and saw he had some texts from Mycroft. 

**\- And so, how was it? MH**   
**\- Gregory, is everything alright? Surely he’s not still speaking? MH  
** **\- Your lack of response is concerning. MH**

Greg sighed and quickly sent a message back before bringing up the maps.

**\- Stuff happening. Talk soon.**

**** It wasn’t long before Greg was escorting Major Sholto into the hospital. Greg told the staff the situation, and then found himself back in his car with a new problem. Tracking down the photographer. It was starting to get dark. Greg sighed.   
_That’s going to make is easier to find him_. 

His sarcastic thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing. Mycroft.   
“Hey, Myc, look, sorry about before…”  
“What’s going on, Gregory?” Mycroft stated, worried.   
“I’m fine, don’t worry. Sherlock was giving his speech, and then everything just went crazy. He starts talking about a murder, and then asks me to lock the place down. Next thing I know, he, along with John and Mary, chase John’s old commander up the stairs. After I tried to calm the guests, I go to find out what’s happening, and I find them all in a room. Turns out, the Major had been stabbed through his belt like that guardsman Sherlock bothered you about. But get this, right? They were about to try to treat him right there! Luckily, I interrupted them. And then suddenly, I’m driving the Major to the hospital, and I have to bring the photographer back to the wedding! I mean, how am I even supposed to find him?”

Mycroft listened intently.   
“Give me five minutes. I will find him.”   
“Oi, I can do it…”  
“Oh, I have no doubt, my dear. However time is of the essence.” Mycroft stated, and hung up. 

Greg groaned in frustration. He wasn’t annoyed that Mycroft took over for him. He was just annoyed at the whole situation. First Mycroft doesn’t go to the wedding, and then he’s back on the job during it. Before long, Greg’s phone rang again. Mycroft was quick with his instructions.   
“Thanks, dear. I love you.” Greg stated.   
“I love you too. See you soon.” Mycroft replied. 

Thanks to Mycroft’s information, it hadn’t taken long to track down the photographer and escort him back to the wedding. He had his suspicions that this was the would-be murderer, but said nothing. It was only a gut instinct, he didn’t have any evidence or even idea as to how. That was, until, Sherlock managed to pull a confession out of him. 

Greg wanted to get the arrest over quickly. He called the police back to the building, much to the chagrin of the officers, and explained the situation to them. He would make his official statement in the morning. He pulled out his phone to call Mycroft, and found that it was almost out of battery. He was confused for a moment, and then realised why. He’d accidentally managed to keep his recorder on for the whole time since Sherlock’s speech. He laughed, proud of his accidental genius, and stopped the recording. Convicting the man just got a whole lot easier, now that he had his confession on tape. 

John and Mary waltzed to the music Sherlock composed, and Greg grinned at them. He was glad that they were so happy. After everything they’d all gone through, they deserved moments like this. Peaceful and happy. It didn’t escape his attention that Sherlock was finding it difficult to watch, despite his flawless playing. But, Greg resigned to himself, he’d get used to it. It might not ever stop being painful for him, but it would get easier. And in the mean time, Greg was there for him. Sherlock’s impromptu vow struck a chord with Greg… and then he shook his head by the fumble the end.  
 _Typically Sherlock._

Greg smiled. That man could never stop being awkward when emotions were involved. He did notice something was up, with the way they all stood in the middle of the dance floor chatting after Sherlock’s stumble. And from Sherlock’s face as Mary and John moved away to dance. Greg moved his way over to him, but Sherlock had already made his way back to the music stand. He put the sheet music in an envelope, and then left the building. Greg followed. It wasn’t like he had anyone to dance with, anyway. 

“Sherlock!” Greg called as the man walked away, his dark coat hiding him in the shadows.   
“Greg?” He called back, standing and waiting for him to catch up.   
“Listen… it’ll get better, ok?” Greg offered once he’d joined Sherlock.   
“Hm. I know.”   
“No, it really will. What was with the, er, vow? The awkwardness at the end? I know something happened.”  
“I… I don’t believe I can tell you. That’s up to them.” Sherlock spoke to the ground.   
“Right. Well, whatever it is, I’m here for you, alright?” Greg said, patting Sherlock’s arm through his large coat. 

“I hadn’t expected them to move on with their lives as quickly as this.” Sherlock grumbled.   
“What do you mean?”  
“Everything’s already changing. Soon they won’t want me around anymore… I’m not exactly child-friendly.”  
“Wait, what?”

Sherlock looked shocked.   
“Er…damn. Please forget I said anything.”   
“Shit, pregnant? Yeah, I get it. Overwhelming.”  
“Greg.”  
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll pretend I know nothing.” Greg laughed. Sherlock smiled and looked at him with genuine appreciation.   
“Thank you.” 

They stood in the cool night air in silence for a while.   
“Are you going to go back in?” Sherlock asked after a while.   
“Nah. Seeing as you scared off my date, there’s no real point. Might as well leave with you.”   
“Sorry about that again. If it helps, I did try to get him to come for you.”   
“Oh, um, thanks. But it’s alright. I’m rather looking forward to finding out how he’s gonna make it up to me.” 

Sherlock laughed.   
“Well, I’m glad. Just keep it to yourself.”   
“You don’t want to know about the noises I can get your brother to make?” Greg asked playfully. Sherlock groaned and began to walk away. Greg laughed and walked with him. 

“You’re not going to be alone, you know.” Greg stated as they approached his car.   
“I know. Didn’t you hear my vow? I’m not going to abandon them, ever.”  
“I mean you’ll always have me, and Mycroft.”  
“I know, thank you. You’ve become like family to me, Greg. And I imagine soon you will actually become family to me.”   
“Not saying a word.” Greg said, blushing.   
“But John’s family too. And that makes Mary, and the little one, my family too. I will do anything to protect my family.”

Greg smiled proudly.   
“You know, you’re more like your brother than you care to admit.” 


	20. Fluffy Morning

Greg hadn’t said a word about Mycroft’s means of ‘making it up to him’ regarding missing the wedding. By the time he’d gotten home that evening, Mycroft had already been asleep. In the morning, strangely enough, Mycroft had already left. Greg really hoped that Mycroft hadn’t just forgotten about it all, since he was still feeling a bit left out, but decided it wasn’t a big enough deal to bother potentially starting an argument. 

He didn’t want to lay in bed alone for any length of time, and so promptly got up and showered. He didn’t know why Mycroft wasn’t around, he thought that they’d organised the day off together.   
_Probably some big important thing somewhere._

Since he was alone, and not really that it mattered either way, Greg walked back out into the bedroom naked. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to wear: he could wear his normal work attire, but felt like wearing something more relaxed. He admitted it was tempting to don his torn jeans, punk shirt and leather jacket. He considered them his ‘angsty’ clothes, worn when he was upset about something and wanted to kick back to his somewhat bad-boy youth. Mycroft never really understood why he’d wear things like torn clothing, but Greg had just told him to deal with it. He liked them. And he was just a little peeved at Mycroft for disappearing without a word. 

_Screw it. Angsty day it is.  
_ Greg rifled to the back of his cupboard to drag out his ripped jeans and black faded shirt. He could always just go get a new shirt, but he liked that one. He then grabbed out his leather jacket from the back of the hanging clothes. He frowned when he found a small note attached to it. He pulled it off to read it. 

_Gregory,_

_I understand you will be feeling upset with me this morning for leaving without explanation. I hope you can trust me to prove my good intentions to you. I am awaiting you for breakfast at your favourite café._

_Please do not wear your shredded attire._

_Mycroft._

Greg smiled warmly to himself. Trust Mycroft to know what he was going to wear. At least the day was starting to look up. He noticed that there wasn’t a time listed on the note, so wasn’t sure if Mycroft also knew exactly what time he’d rock up, or if he’d be sitting there waiting for him for hours. It was indeed tempting to just make him wait for the fun of it, but his stomach rumbling reminded him that food was more important. Choosing instead to wear some (not torn) jeans and a casual buttoned shirt, he dressed quickly and left the house. 

Greg walked into the café he hoped was the one that Mycroft meant. He was glad to discover his partner sitting at a table with a cup of coffee and the newspaper. Mycroft looked up as he approached, and smiled a warm loving smile that made Greg’s previous annoyance melt away. Surprisingly, Mycroft stood up as Greg reached the table and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. Greg blushed, suppressing a child like giggle.   
“We’re in public… I thought you hated public displays of affection.” Greg stated as he seated himself opposite Mycroft.   
“I did, yes, before you.” Mycroft stated plainly, continuing to give him that warm smile.   
“Well, this is all very nice, Myc, but you could have just told me and we’d left together after you know… some morning fun or something.” Greg said while playing with his fork. 

Mycroft chuckled.   
“My dear, this is not the entirety of my plans for today. You requested I make it up to you, and it was no small feat to go to that wedding without me. You requested food, pampering, and … myself, and I am going to provide. So just enjoy what comes your way… I believe I have crafted quite the enjoyable day for you.”

Greg beamed in response. The waitress came and took their breakfast orders, Mycroft ordering a croissant and Greg a panini, and then not long after returned with their drinks and food. They chatted casually about all sorts of things, including some gossip about their friends. Greg was shocked that Mycroft was actually willing to participate in gossip. He seemed a lot more relaxed and, frankly, ‘normal’, than he usually was. Greg enjoyed the warm everyday side of Mycroft, but didn’t want to make it out that the man had to pretend to be someone he wasn’t around him. 

“Myc, you don’t have to try be just an average bloke around me, if you don’t want to.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“This… chatting in a coffee house about John and Sherlock, talking about the weather and the traffic, of ordinary things that every man on the block talks about.”  
“You don’t like it?”  
“No, no, I do… I just don’t want you to feel like you have to pretend.” Greg stated honestly, drinking the last of his coffee.   
“I… I am actually enjoying being so relaxed with you. I do not get much opportunity to be so casual in my work, and before I met you, I had quite the disdain for small talk. However since our association, simply being in your company is enjoyable. Even the mindless chatter about other’s lives is an enjoyable activity since I get to hear your voice and bond with you over it.” 

If he could, Greg would have leapt over the table and kissed him right there. Reaching over and placing his hand over Mycroft’s had to suffice.   
“I love you, you know?”  
“Yes, Gregory, I know. And I love you too.”  
“So, you mentioned this was an all day event? Where to next?”  
“Back home.” Mycroft said, smiling. Greg’s heart pounded in anticipation. 

Greg was all but ready to strip naked when they arrived home. He managed to contain himself from grabbing his man and pressing him up against the door and kissing him thoroughly, as Mycroft seemed not to notice the excitement running through Greg’s veins. Or, he chose to ignore them and enjoyed watching the detective squirm in an effort to keep himself together. 

What Greg encountered next was the complete opposite of what he’d expected. Mycroft had entered the spare room, instead of their bedroom, and so Greg followed curiously. He instantly froze in the doorway.   
“Gregory dear, do close the door behind you… you don’t want any of them escaping.” Mycroft stated casually. 

Greg couldn’t believe it. He’d walked into a room filled with puppies.   
“What… what? How?” Greg managed to say as a parade of little paws rushed to him.   
“I know you like dogs, especially the infant ones, and so I arranged to borrow these for the morning.”

Greg rolled his eyes at ‘infant dogs’, but couldn’t take the smile off his face. He _loved_ puppies. He loved dogs, in general, especially big fluffy ones. He’d never been able to own one as he’d always been in an apartment and he’d not had the space to have one. And he was away all the time for his job. He knelt down and ran his fingers through the soft coat of the one that was desperately trying to be picked up. 

There were at least five little Bernese Mountain dog pups, a couple of labradors, and one husky pup. And they all wanted to lick Greg’s face. He was in heaven. He laughed and giggled as he cuddled the puppies that came up to him, snuggling his face into their soft fur despite the licks he got. He didn’t care. Mycroft stood tall in the corner of the room looking down at his partner with the most loving smile he’d ever given. The pure joy that radiated out of Greg at that moment was contagious, and he felt his chest flood with warmth just looking at that smile on his face. 

The man grabbed the pups and ruffled their heads and bellies. He rolled onto his back and allowed them to crawl over him. While Mycroft didn’t like the idea of the germs being spread over the detective’s face, he could see his lover didn’t mind the slightest. Greg looked up at Mycroft with such a gleeful stare, his brown eyes glistening. Mycroft knew he couldn’t be called the Iceman anymore when just one look from that wonderful man could melt him entirely. 

Greg spent the next couple of hours playing with the pups. There were toys littered about the (covered) floor, and some treats to be given out at Greg’s discretion. Occasionally one or two of the pups would try and get Mycroft to play, but he ignored them each time. One of the Bernese pups was particularly insistent, however.   
“Aw, he just wants to play with you Myc.” Greg laughed as he saw the pup sit before Mycroft and bark at him frustratedly.   
“Yes, well, he can continue his attempts but I will not yield.” Mycroft stated firmly. The puppy began to pout, and as Mycroft stared into its eyes, he was beginning to understand where the phrase ‘puppy eyes’ came from. He looked at it uncomfortably.   
“Just give him a cuddle.” Greg said, currently with a pup in each arm.   
“This suit is too expensive to be covered in dog hair.”   
“I think that ship has sailed.” Greg chuckled, and Mycroft noticed the furry coating on his pants. He groaned, and knelt down to pat the little dog. 

It barked happily and rolled over for a belly rub, and Mycroft hesitantly obliged. He couldn’t help but warm to the animal… it was incredibly cute and soft. He’d always considered himself more of a cat person, but moreover a ‘no pets’ person. But seeing the delight on Gregory’s face from the presence of a dog (or in this case, many dogs), he suddenly found himself not so opposed to the idea of having one. It was completely impractical, of course, still… at least, maybe one day, they could retire and own a dog. 

Mycroft cleared his throat, realising he’d started envisioning a life with Gregory. He wasn’t sure if his partner even wanted that… they’d not really talked about the status of their relationship or their intentions for the future. Mycroft knew Gregory was a man that would have loved children, and he wasn’t sure he was a man to be able to provide that kind of life. But the thought of any life without Gregory in it were so terrible that he had to forcefully shove them away to avoid the pain involved.   
_Gregory might not want children this late in life… maybe a quiet life with a dog would suffice? Or would I end up not being opposed to the idea of children as well as dogs?_

“You alright, Myc?”  
Mycroft snapped out of his thoughts and noticed that he was still knelt on the floor, staring into the plastic coated hardwood, with no puppy in sight.   
“Yeah… just… thinking.”   
“About what?”  
“Um… just the future.” 

Greg tilted his head.   
“A future about us?”  
“Yes.”  
“I… I can keep one?!” Greg suddenly asked, very excited. Mycroft jumped slightly.  
“No! Lord, no.”   
“Aw, please Myc…”   
“It’s not open for discussion, Gregory. All of these puppies are destined for homes.”

Greg pouted, and sighed. Then he gave a hopeful look Mycroft’s way.  
“But you were thinking we could get a dog one day?”   
“Yes. Perhaps.”

Greg didn’t push the issue any further. He was glad that his partner was considering a long term life with him, because the thoughts of proposing were still flashing across his mind at an alarming frequency. Up until now he’d not thought Mycroft considered such things. But if Mycroft was considering getting a dog sometime in the future with him, then he must be as serious about them as Greg himself was. It was seeming like not such a rash decision after all… at least not as rash as it was before Sherlock returned. 

Mycroft said the puppies needed to be returned to the owners, and the room needed cleaning. Greg knew that meant to ‘get out’, and so he left the room fairly reluctantly. He so wanted to keep that little Bernese that had gotten attached to Mycroft. Once Mycroft had successfully closed the door, and called for assistance to remove the dogs and clean the room, he guided Greg into their bedroom. 

“Our next appointment is approaching: I have booked us in to a spa for a few hours. You requested pampering, and I do believe you enjoy massages. However I have scheduled a thorough soak and exfoliation first; I believe you are in desperate need of a cleanse.” Mycroft stated, beginning to change out of his furry suit. Greg laughed, sat on the bed, and watched him. 

“You’re not going to get changed?”  
“Nope.”  
“And so you’re just going to watch me do so?”  
“Yep.”   
“Why?”  
“I can watch my own personal strip show if I want to.” Greg said teasingly, and Mycroft sighed while rolling his eyes. He did, however, begin to make his moves slightly more exaggerated. This was not lost on Greg. 


	21. Dessert

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, it gets a little explicit in this chapter. 
> 
> But it's in good taste. 
> 
> You'll get that when you read it.

The spa had been amazing. Greg walked out feeling more relaxed than he had in longer than he could remember. It was like gliding on a cloud. Mycroft seemed to be feeling a similar way, as he moved much more like he was floating. Dinner had been excellent, comprising of the pizza he’d shared with Mycroft on one of their first dates, and an array of craft beers he knew Mycroft had requested the restaurant allow. 

They arrived home satisfied and content with the world. Mycroft had said that he’d selected one of Greg’s favourite movies to watch in the home cinema, where they sat with a drink and snuggled each other. Mycroft even initiated some kissing, of which Greg didn’t mind in the least. In fact, he got a little handsy, making Mycroft blush. 

“So, when’s this dessert you said you’d organised?” Greg whispered into Mycroft’s ear as he slowly stroked his chest through the shirt he’d unbuttoned.   
“Are you really thinking about your stomach?” Mycroft inquired with a smile.   
“Always. But if you want to skip dessert, I’d be ok with that.”   
“Hehe, no, I promised you your favourite dessert on me, and I intend to deliver.”  
“Hmmm… yes, but that was at the restaurant, where I assumed you were not so subtly indicating that you were paying for it all. Now we’re home and you’re continuing to phrase it that way, I am thinking you have something else in mind.” Greg uttered huskily, causing Mycroft to shiver. 

Instead of answering, Mycroft leaned in for another kiss. Greg responded gladly, probing against Mycroft’s lips with his tongue. He’d had enough beer to be buzzing and have his inhibitions lowered, and to make him a bit randy. Well, if he was fair to himself, Mycroft was good at doing that last one to him all on his own.   
“The movie’s almost over, why don’t we continue this elsewhere?” Greg uttered, his face millimetres from Mycroft’s. The British Government swallowed and nodded. 

Greg stood and grabbed Mycroft’s hand, and pulled him up out of the seat. He then lead the way to the bedroom, still holding his hand.   
“Why don’t you go get some water first? I need a moment to … prepare myself.” Mycroft stated while at the door. Greg raised his eyebrows.   
“Of course, you wicked man.” He uttered, barely loud enough for Mycroft to hear. He then walked downstairs to the kitchen. 

He drank some, and waited a little for Mycroft to be done with whatever he’d planned. Greg reminisced over the day he’d had. It had been wonderful, and all entirely directed towards him. Mycroft really outdone himself, and had shown how far he’d come in being in a relationship.   
“Definitely becoming husband material.” Greg muttered to himself warmly as he filled up the glass again. 

Deciding he couldn’t wait anymore, and the anticipation for what he’d find upstairs was becoming too uncomfortable to remain clothed, Greg made his way upstairs. 

The door creaked gently as Greg opened it. His eyes lavishly fell upon the pale figure on the bed. He was utterly naked and covered in pieces of nougat from the crotch up. Greg shivered and swallowed.   
“I hope you find this enjoyable.” Mycroft spoke to him. 

Mycroft didn’t have to wait to find out, since Greg was already half way through removing his clothes. It didn’t take long for Greg to be completely naked as well, and approaching the bed.   
“I won’t bother to ask how you knew I love nougat.” 

Instead of picking up a piece to eat, he carefully positioned himself to be kneeling over Mycroft. He bent forward and kissed him deeply, humming in delight. Mycroft raised his arm and ran in up Gregory’s spine, careful not to make any of the pieces fall off his belly as he did so. He was glad his gesture had paid off. He wasn’t exactly all that comfortable with food and his body put together, but trusted it to go down well with Gregory and so gathered the courage to try. 

Greg broke the kiss and nuzzled his way down Mycroft’s neck, licking at the soft tender skin over his Adam’s apple. He slid down further, and grasped the first piece of nougat from the top of Mycroft’s chest. He was sure to chew it making as little noise as possible; he knew Mycroft couldn’t stand the sound of chewing, and he was ever so close to the man’s ears. 

The nougat was exquisite. Much better than the whipped sugar he normally bought himself. He hummed.   
“It’s Italian. There’s a berry one, and a nut one.” Mycroft said proudly.   
“The berry one is good. I hope you remembered where you bought it.”  
“I do, of course, my dear. But I don’t think I’ll disclose their location.”  
“Oh, why do you torture me so?” Greg cooed, licking down Mycroft’s chest to score another piece of nougat.   
“B-because, Gregory, I have to consider your blood sugar…” Mycroft stuttered at the feeling of a warm tongue sliding over his chest. 

Greg enjoyed the second piece, the nut one.   
“Both flavours are amazing.” Greg said, sitting upright, straddling Mycroft’s thighs. He noticed that his partner was getting rather excited at the contact, and decided to to run the palm of his hand up Mycroft’s crotch.   
“Hnnggg… Gregory…”   
“You like that, my sweet?” Greg teased, licking his lips. Mycroft was definitely sweet right now.   
“Yes.” Mycroft breathed, trying to remain still. 

Using the palm of his hand only, Greg rubbed up and down along Mycroft’s length a few times more before sliding his fingers up the ginger belly hairs to grasp another piece of nougat. He licked it for Mycroft to see, flicking his tongue over the treat before taking the whole thing in his mouth. He was glad to see it was having the desired affect on Mycroft. That affect was definitely effecting him, as well. He moved back down to hover over Mycroft’s chest, nibbling at his ear softly, and ever so gently pressing his length against Mycroft’s. The man below him moaned breathily at the contact, and Greg smiled lustfully. 

“I’m going to have a lot of fun with you.” He uttered, giving him a kiss.   
“I hope so.”

Greg slid himself further down Mycroft’s legs so that he could lay down and still have his head hover above Mycroft’s gloriously soft belly. He pressed his nose into the soft layer of pudge, wiggling it slightly, before trailing kisses down from Mycroft’s sternum to his navel. There were still a few pieces of nougat there, and Greg tried hard not to make them fall. It was an enticing means to keep Mycroft still … and it was exciting to play with that fact. Greg’s mouth found one of the pieces, but merely took a nibble from it before moving his mouth further downwards. He nuzzled the tip of Mycroft’s cock and gave it a quick lick. 

“Mmm, sweet and salty. You’re the whole package, aren’t you, my dear?” Greg teased, and Mycroft groaned softly in response. Greg then licked from the base of his length all the way up to the tip, and encased his mouth around the hard member. 

Mycroft jerked involuntarily despite all attempts at remaining motionless. Greg took him tantalisingly slowly, as much as he could fit in his mouth, before releasing him with a pop. Mycroft’s face made it obvious he was desperate for more, but said nothing. Greg smiled slyly and moved back up to continue nibbling at the piece of nougat he’d bitten previously. He let his body lay completely on top of his partner, which freed his hands to allow them to run up Mycroft’s sides. He could feel the tingles underneath his fingertips at his touch, and the soft throbs Mycroft’s prick made against his neck and chest. 

They were entranced by each other, forgetting the outside world existed… until Greg’s phone rang. He sighed loudly and let his forehead rest against Mycroft’s body.   
“You don’t have to answer.” Mycroft stated, also annoyed that the mood was broken.   
“I’ll see who it is. It could be important.” Greg grumbled, getting up to pick up his phone from the beside table. He looked at the caller ID, and saw that it was Sherlock. He raised an eyebrow.   
“I have to take this, I’m sorry Myc.” Greg reluctantly said, knowing that his lover would understand. Greg had said to Sherlock he could call any time. 

“Sherlock?” Greg said as he answered the call, and watched as Mycroft groaned in frustration and let his head fall backwards onto the bed.   
“Greg. I don’t know what to do.”  
“About what, Sherlock?”  
“I can’t do it without him, Greg!”  
“Do what?”  
“Anything! Life is just too boring knowing he’s away and I can’t contact him.”  
“Sherlock… he’s only been away for a day.”  
“Yes, I know, and I’m already bored!”  
“Look, can we discuss this in the morning?”  
“No. I need to have distraction _now_.”  
“I don’t know, Sherlock, start an experiment. Go to sleep. Play the violin. Something. We’ll talk in the morning.” Greg said in a rush.   
“Why can’t I just come over and spend time with you? That’s what friends do, isn’t it?”

Greg sighed. He could tell the man was just being a whiny child, and that there wasn’t actually any threat of danger tonight. And so, he decided to be firm with him.   
“Sherlock, unless you want to come and help me eat nougat off your brother’s navel, we’ll talk tomorrow.” 

Greg heard Sherlock gag and then the call ended. Greg smiled to himself, feeling rather pleased with how he handled the situation. Mycroft was making a face like he was trying not to explode. Greg looked at him quizzically as he put his phone away, and then Mycroft burst out laughing. His belly jiggled so much that all the pieces of nougat fell onto the bed. Mycroft heaved for breath as he snorted and shouted. It was contagious, and before he knew it, Greg was dying of laughter as well. 

Once they’d both calmed down, they were able to think about what they were doing before they were interrupted.   
“Awh, the nougat is getting fluffy.” Greg pouted.   
“Yeah but you like fluffy things.” Mycroft chided.   
“Not food!” Greg said in a strange mix of indignant and playful.   
“Well, looks like you’re just going to have to eat something else.” Mycroft mused with his eyebrow raised, and stretching out his lean body.   
“I think I can live with that. A bit saltier than I had expected for dessert, though.” 


	22. Holiday

Greg had called Sherlock the next morning. He’d be pleasantly surprised to find that Sherlock had decided to begin some new experiments instead of starting something destructive. He’d even apologised for interfering the previous night… which in of itself was amazing. But, he’d been back to his usual self by telling Greg to stop bothering him and find something else to do. Greg had decided to be childish and suggest Sherlock’s brother, to which the younger homes had responded with ‘as long as it’s far away from me’.

It was interesting that those words from Sherlock had sparked an idea for a holiday with Mycroft in his head. Greg had thought that he wouldn’t have any leave left after all the time he’d taken off while recovering… but was surprised to find that he had almost a month accrued. But having the leave and being able to take it were different matters, and managing to convince Mycroft to also take time off was going to be the most difficult of all.

“Absolutely not, Gregory. I cannot be away from Sherlock while Dr Watson is away on his honeymoon.”  
“I understand that, I do… but … I just feel like it’d be a good idea, to go away for a few weeks. Just us. We’ve been through some shit, Myc, lately. For a while actually. You’ve been stressed at work, don’t think I haven’t noticed… and so have I. We could really use some time off just relaxing and bonding.” Greg pleaded, perhaps more emotionally than he originally intended.   
“I tried not to let it show. But yes, there is an inquiry set for tomorrow that my colleague is involved in and I’ve been trying… Sorry. It’s just been challenging. I … I would love nothing more than to go away with you, my dear, but I can’t leave my brother. I promised I’d always be there for him.”

Greg sighed and looked at Mycroft sternly. The British Government raised his eyebrow in response.

“Myc, I’m going to tell you something that you might not want to hear, but I think that it’s important. You’ve done absolutely everything you can to be there for your brother. You have remained there for him through anything. I admire that, I do… but I can’t help but think that maybe the reason Sherlock hasn’t been able to stand on his own is because he’s always been assured that you’d be there to fall on.”

Mycroft didn’t say anything. He just blinked slowly. Greg was suddenly worried that he’d said something terribly wrong, and was about to be yelled at. He decided to continue.

“I… I just mean that when you’ve grown up having that support there unconditionally, you can fall into the habit of just expecting someone else always there to clean up your messes and come back to. But when you are all you have, and you need to swim or drown, you learn to swim. Even if you’ve legitimately stopped Sherlock from drowning a couple of times, hun, he’s learned that he never has to try swimming because you’re always there to save him. I was the eldest, I had to survive on my own so that I could be there to support my sister, just like you have for your brother. But I wasn’t like you. I left her to fend for herself when I was a rebellious youth. And that was the push that made her get her shit together and become responsible for her own life.”  
“…But… if I leave, and he … drowns… I’ll never forgive myself.” Mycroft uttered ever so softly.

Greg bridged the gap between them and held him in his arms. He gripped tightly.   
“Give him a chance, Myc.” Greg responded, “Trust him to make the right decisions. He’s grown up a lot since John.”

Greg could feel Mycroft’s body shake softly. It was a confronting concept for him to come to terms with.   
“Alright,” Mycroft spoke hesitantly, “But only if he is occupied thoroughly. Do you have any particularly long and involved cases for him?”  
“I’m afraid not. I would have given him it already if I had. Well, who knows… maybe something will come up soon and we’ll get a chance to spend some time just us, yeah?” Greg said hopefully, breaking the hug and lovingly cupping Mycroft’s chin with his hand.

Mycroft smiled back at Gregory, trying to keep his eyes from tearing up. Talking about his brother always hit an emotional spot for him. Greg held him close again.   
“Where would you like to go, if we did get a chance to get away?” Greg asked.   
“I… I could not possibly be more than a few hours away from London, and so it would need to be within Europe.”  
“All of Europe to choose from eh? Anywhere special you like?” Greg asked, smiling.   
“I am rather fond of Scandinavia.”

Greg chuckled.   
“Yeah, I can see that. I never pictured you as a beach person.”  
“So, would you like to spend some time in Sweden perhaps? If we are permitted the opportunity?”

With a beaming smile, Greg broke their embrace to stare directly into his partner’s eyes.   
“I would love nothing more.”

~

“Seriously, you and Mycroft both need to keep away for a while.” Sherlock stated.   
“What’s going on, Sherlock?” Greg asked, unsure what his friend meant. Was he just trying to push everyone away?  
“I have a case. A big one. I am going to need to devote everything to it, and it’s going to take a long time. And it honestly will be better for me if I don’t have contact with the both of you, or John and Mary, for it.”

Greg frowned. Sherlock didn’t  _seem_  to be emotionally unstable. He honestly looked like he did when he was excited to work on the really difficult cases. Still, he’d never explicitly told him to keep away, and Greg was worried.   
“If… if this is about what you went through in your time away, you don’t have to handle it alone anymore.”  
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lestrade. That’s all done and put behind me. But it should serve as evidence to show I can indeed handle myself alone for a while.”   
“I… I didn’t doubt that you could, but I mean… if Mycroft were to go away with me, he’d not be there just in case something happened.”   
“I am aware. I didn’t tell him everything of what I went through back then, either.”  
“But he was still there for you when it go bad. Look I’m not trying to convince you that you  _need_  Mycroft around, because I don’t believe that, I’m just a little uncertain about this case you’re not telling me about.”

Sherlock sighed, and turned from looking out of the window.   
“Greg, I will be alright. I will need to do some difficult things, though, and those things will not be received well for Mycroft. But it needs to be done. Trust me that no matter what happens, I will be as careful as I can.”

Greg sighed, but then nodded. It was exactly the situation he’d been talking about with Mycroft mere days ago. He thought it was rather coincidental, but then he chuckled at hearing Mycroft’s voice resound in his mind that the universe was rarely so lazy.

“Alright, Sherlock. I’ll talk to Myc. The only reason he wouldn’t take some time off with me was to watch over you… I’d tried to tell him to give you some space, but he wouldn’t unless you had something occupying yourself. I hope this will be enough for him… but I’ll tell you right now, it’s not going to be easy if I can’t tell him what it is that you’re up to.”   
“Thank you, Gavin.” Sherlock said with a cheeky grin.   
“Greg.” Greg responded instinctively, smiling.

~

It hadn’t been easy, but he’d managed to convince Mycroft that Sherlock would be alright if they left for two weeks. Greg had gotten the time off, and Mycroft had as well; and so Greg found himself sitting on a plane beside his partner en route to Sweden. He’d never flown first class before… it was so much better than economy. He didn’t mind economy, for short trips at least. But Mycroft wouldn’t have an ear of it. He’d originally suggested taking a private jet, but Greg had argued against such pointless expenditure. And so they met in the middle.

Greg was excited. And extremely nervous. He hoped that Mycroft only saw his excitement, or thought he was nervous about flying. But really, he was nervous because he’d packed one small, but huge, item. The rings. Sweden looked beautiful, and they no doubt were going to some extremely romantic places. Greg thought that it would be a perfect opportunity to ask. The only problem was that he couldn’t try and organise an evening to do it… Mycroft had planned out most of the trip, and he didn’t want the man getting suspicious. With anyone else it might have been inconspicuous enough to plan out a day or dinner, but for a Holmes… he’d catch on pretty quick. And Greg really wanted to surprise him.   
_You don’t make that an easy thing to do, my love_.

With a soft smile on his face, Greg leant over and kissed Mycroft gently on the cheek. Mycroft turned his head away from his laptop and looked at Gregory quizzically.   
“Just because I love you.” Greg explained. Mycroft smiled.   
“I’m just having a look for some nice activities to do while we are there.” Mycroft explained, turning his laptop to Gregory.   
“I would have thought you’d done that already.” Greg said.   
“Yes, I have organised some more specific things to do and the logistics of our stay, but I have left quite a bit of space to do things on a whim or for things you might like to suggest.” Mycroft explained.

Greg swallowed. This was his chance to organise something without suspicion.   
“What is it dear? You don’t have to choose anything if it’s going to stress you.” Mycroft said with concern.

_Damn, well there goes that idea. Bloody Holmes observation._

“No I just … don’t… know anything in Sweden that might be nice. I’ve never been there or thought about going there.” Greg covered up.   
“Oh, well, you may look up some things if you wish.” Mycroft offered, shifting his laptop in Gregory’s direction.   
“Myc, we’re on a plane, I can’t just google stuff.”  
“When was the last time you were on an international flight, Gregory? There’s wifi.”

Greg must have had a shocked look on his face, because Mycroft giggled to himself.   
“It’s alright, I have some good ideas.” Mycroft said conclusively, and patted Gregory’s hand.

_Well there goes my chance… again. Erg, I need to speak up quicker._


	23. The Lake

Stockholm was lovely, but a bit too built up for Greg’s taste. He didn’t mind cities, of course, but he preferred to holiday out in nature. But he knew that was a little too much to ask of Mycroft. The five days they’d spent there were filled with luxurious hotel rooms (wherein he and Mycroft could barely contain themselves enough to appreciate the luxuries on offer), exquisite food options (half of which Greg had never heard of, but were alright enough), and the occasional stroll about town. 

He enjoyed that Mycroft was relaxed enough to even hold his hand as they walked occasionally. Sweden was wonderfully tolerant of gays, and so they barely even got looks from passers by when they walked hand-in-hand. Greg was glad that this fact made Mycroft willing to be more affectionate in public. Mycroft was even wearing ‘holiday’ clothing: occasionally jeans, often chinos, with a button down shirt under a selection of cashmere jumpers. And, of course, a large greatcoat. It was mid Autumn, and so while the countryside was exceedingly beautiful, it was also fairly chilly. Greg was glad to have brought his big coat as well. It had also proven to be a perfect hiding spot for his ring case, as Mycroft had eyed all of his luggage the first morning of their stay. Greg was just glad he’d had the sense to slip it into the coat breast pocket ‘just in case’ the evening they arrived. 

They then travelled to the second large city, Gothenburg (or “Göteborg” as Mycroft would say - he was completely fluent in Swedish, so much so that people didn’t realise he was a foreigner until Greg had to interrupt in English). It was also nice, but Greg found himself longing to see the countryside. Mycroft listened, and planned a trip up northward. 

Greg had offered to drive. He liked being able to go where he pleased, stop when he wanted to without having to rationalise his decision, and enjoy the feeling of being able to drive for an extended period of time without having to constantly stop at lights. It also gave them a chance to be alone together and chat in a way that couldn’t be done if they’d had a driver. 

They’d driven up to Trollhättan, had lunch, and then Mycroft insisted that they continue northward to stay at Vänersborg. He’d said that it was the base of the largest lake in Sweden, Vänern, and that Greg would love to see a lake look as large as an ocean - complete with beach. It turned out to be not much further along the road, and so they got to watch the sunset at the ‘beach’. Mycroft had been right, it was lovely. And huge. 

There was a long wooden pier that spanned out into the water, but across most of the sand as well. Mycroft hated sand, and so refused to walk on the beach with Gregory. Greg was just grateful that the pier was there at all so that they could sit together and watch the sun set. They huddled up close together, still in their large thick coats, and breathed in the icy air with a smile. Mycroft wrapped his arm around Gregory’s body, and rested his cheek on the detective’s silver hair. 

“You were right; I did really need some time away.” Mycroft spoke quietly.   
“I’m glad. Me too.”  
“And I wanted to thank you for helping me take a step back from Sherlock. It makes a lot of sense now, and he seems to be managing well.”  
“You’ve spoken to him?” Greg asked. He was aware Mycroft had been phoning London, or being called by work, but hadn’t realised he’d been talking with his brother. That wasn’t really the point of getting away, and Sherlock had asked not to be disturbed.   
“No, but I haven’t had any report by the surveillance team that he’s doing anything destructive.” 

Greg moved to look at him with a frown.   
“You’re still monitoring him?”  
“Yes?”  
“Myc, I told you… let him have some trust. It’ll do the both of you good.”  
“I believed I was by electing to spend so much time this far away.”   
“Yeah, and that’s been progress, but not enough. Just… we’re still here for another week. Tell your people to just leave him be, and not watch him all the time.”  
“But I won’t know what’s happening…”  
“Exactly, Myc. You’ve got to be able to let go as much as he’s got to stand on his own.” 

Mycroft sighed heavily. He knew Gregory was right, and just was looking out for the both of them, but he couldn’t shake the anxiety that swelled in his gut at the thought of being out of the loop. He clenched his jaw and just nodded. He’d make the call on the car ride back to the bed and breakfast they were staying at. Greg closed his eyes and pulled Mycroft close to rest against him (of course moving his coat front out of the way first). He gently stroked his partner’s arm as the sky went dark. It was romantic, but still not quite what Greg had in mind for the proposal. And so he just enjoyed sharing the warmth of Mycroft’s body as the night air began to freeze the environment around them. 

They headed back to the B&B not long after, seeing as it was too dark to see anything anyway and it was already starting to frost. Mycroft called his team and told them to leave Sherlock alone until further notice. They then shared a late dinner of fish with dill sauce, and then retired to bed. Their room was warm and cosy… so warm, in fact, that they didn’t actually need to be wearing clothes. That suited them perfectly fine. Greg had found that for some reason, Swedes really liked to keep the inside of the houses hot. To him it just was uncomfortable to have such a temperature shift going from outside to inside, but he didn’t complain with the night time activities it allowed. 

He and Mycroft had gotten into a nice rhythm of sexual activity before their holiday, and so the extra time had just served to make things either longer, kinkier, or sometimes both. Greg was pleased to find that Mycroft actually was a fairly sexual person, and so would initiate things between them almost half of the time. Greg liked to play dominant often, but he didn’t like to be the _only_ one to initiate things. He needed to feel like Mycroft was having fun as well, and not just ‘going along with it’ for Greg’s sake. They switched roles, as well, which Greg loved. It made every encounter different and exciting, never knowing just where things were headed. 

As Greg softly drifted off to sleep in the cosy embrace of Mycroft spooning against him, he just thought how lucky he was to have this man in his life. He never wanted to let him go. Sure, things got tough, but as long as they both were willing to work and change for the better of the relationship and themselves, it was going to be ok. And Mycroft had certainly proven he was willing to do that. He just hoped that Mycroft thought the same, that Greg was willing to put effort into change that needed to happen, and to be utterly devoted to him. He just hoped that Myc saw the changes to himself as a positive in his life, and not a mere concession to keep Greg happy and around. 

He still had a week to find out. They were going to stay up north in a cabin, possibly seeing some snow, for the rest of the trip. Given how wonderful their time had been thus far, Greg was actually dreading having to leave. But since it had gone so well, he’d probably be able to convince Mycroft to take more time off in future to spend relaxing just the two of them. It was already doing them both a world of good. Greg drifted off into a deep, comfortable slumber - something he never seemed to manage while on the job back in London. 

~

“Gregory, wake up.”   
Greg stirred from his deep sleep at the sound of Mycroft’s voice. He managed to pull his eyelids up enough to register that it was still dark.   
“Wha? What’ime isit?” Greg managed to mumble.   
“Time to get up.” Mycroft responded, getting out of bed and beginning to dress himself.   
“But…it’s’not even ligh’ ou’.” Greg slurred, struggling to stay awake. 

He felt himself nodding off again, and then was jolted awake but Mycroft shaking his shoulder.   
“Come on, Gregory, get up. You’re used to being woken at all hours, I don’t understand why this is difficult for you.”  
“Guess I just got used to snoozing with you lately.” Greg responded, feeling himself wake up a bit more. Still, the fact that he knew nothing was wrong made him drift back into a doze. He pulled the covers back up closely and snuggled into them. 

“Gregory! Seriously, if you don’t get up and dressed, we’ll miss it.” Mycroft tutted, and walked out of the room. 

_Miss it? That sounds like there’s some event going to happen._

Greg found he was much more alert once realising that time was of the essence. He got up and blearily started dressing himself. Mycroft walked back in with a small paper bag, assumedly with breakfast in it, and smiled at him once he saw that he was in fact getting dressed.   
“Hey so are we like, coming back here after whatever this thing is, or do I need to pack my suitcase?”  
“Oh, I think we can come back before continuing our journey north to Karlstad. Just bring yourself, and your coat… it’ll be cold.” Mycroft said, wearing his greatcoat. 

Greg just nodded at him and slipped his coat on once he’d finished tying his shoes. Mycroft hurried him into the car, electing to drive this time. Greg was very appreciative of that. It was starting to get light out, so sunrise couldn’t be far off. He asked where they were going, but Mycroft had just said ‘you’ll see’. 

But from what Greg could see, they were approaching a mountain. The sky got darker again as they reached the outskirts of the national forest. It probably would be lovely in the day, with all of the trees still clinging to their vibrantly coloured leaves. But in the dim light, all Greg could make out was the white layer of frost and ice. Mycroft drove into the forest and up the mountainside. It then became clear that there were, in fact, two mountains. They were called ‘Halle’ and Hunne’, according to Mycroft. The sign for the entrance to the forest had read ‘Halle och Hunneberg’, so Greg guessed that ‘berg’ must mean mountain.

Greg had originally thought that Mycroft was taking him to the top of the mountain to watch the sun rise. But then Mycroft had turned, and instead was driving down along into the valley between the two mountains. He pulled up at a small car park, and ushered Greg out of the car. He noticed that Mycroft looked excited, and so decided that whatever was here must be important. 

Mycroft took Greg’s gloved hand in his own as they walked along the old stone path. There was a lovely stone bridge that they crossed, over a small creek that ran in a deep crevice of rock. The ground was icy, and the forest still, and so they could hear the loud crunching of their footsteps as they walked. Greg noticed that beyond the trees, there was a lake. It wasn’t huge, just normal sized. He could easily see the line of trees lining the bank on the other side. It seemed to be a long and skinny lake, since it stretched out a fair ways into the distance to his right. 

The path opened out onto a wooden deck, leading to a small platform on the water’s edge. Mycroft lead Gregory out to stand against the wooden fencing around the edge of the platform. He breathed in deeply and sighed, his breath freezing in the air. Greg looked at Mycroft’s face, and was struck by how peaceful it looked. He wasn’t sure why this place was important to Mycroft, but he could appreciate how relaxed it seemed to make his partner feel. It was peaceful, Greg could admit. The sky was a bright pink-orange, but everything around them remained in darkness because of the mountain’s shadow. 

“This place is called Hallsjön… the lake, that is. Tell me, what do you see?” Mycroft enquired, holding Gregory close.   
“It’s a long lake. There are mountains on either side. It’s surrounded by trees. Everything looks frozen and white.” Greg listed off as he let his eyes glance about.

“Yes. It, much like most of the lakes in Sweden, freezes during the winter. Everything around us freezes in the winter. As the cold months approach, the land begins to freeze and the edges of the lake turn to ice overnight, since this particular lake is reasonably shallow. But it is the fact that it is between two mountains that makes it special to me. It is stuck between two large obstacles, having to remain frozen and icy in their shadow for far longer than most of its counterparts.”

Greg hummed, understanding the connection Mycroft was making to himself. Mycroft kissed him on the cheek softly before continuing. 

“I wanted to show you something special. I want you to see what you mean to me and what you’ve done for me. I, like this lake and the surrounds, have been frozen for so long. I’ve been the ice man too long. But then you came along, Gregory. I’ve said to you before that you were the brightness of my day, the light of my life, and I want you to see that. 

“In the night here… it’s quiet, barren… lifeless. Just ice. The sun rises, and it remains in the shadows, icy. But then, in these few weeks between Autumn and Winter, something wonderful happens.”

Greg looked up at Mycroft’s face, and saw him staring off into the sky. It wasn’t often Mycroft talked like this. It was… life affirming. The man breathed deeply.

“Almost time, dear Gregory. Before you I thought I could just stay frozen, but I was wrong. And I don’t want to be anymore at all. You’ve changed me permanently, for the better. Gregory, my miracle… you are the sun that brings warmth to my life, and this is the transformation that your light has brought.” Mycroft stated, smiling down at Greg, and then moved to look up at the mountain. 

Greg’s eyes followed and he saw the light of the sun burst out from behind the mountain. The light struck him by surprise, and he had to squint. Its rays were already warm, having risen so high in the sky. He looked out to the lake, and saw the golden rays spread out against the ground and start trailing up to the water. Within minutes of being illuminated, the frost melted on the ground. The icy edge of the lake disappeared. The trees beside them shone brightly in their autumn glory, all trace of the frozen morning disappeared into sparkling dew drops. Birds began to sing, flying out of their homes in the trees to greet the day. 

In such short moments, the place had been turned from a silent and barren frozen land into a bright, vibrant, and lively forest. Greg couldn’t help but beam at the message Mycroft had given him. It was truly beautiful. The lake glistened, the trees sparkled, and Mycroft held him close. Just perfect. 

Mycroft looked down at Gregory, his chest expanding seeing the wonder on his love’s face. The golden light of the sun illuminated him appropriately. 

“You are my sunshine.” Mycroft uttered softly. 

Greg turned to face him, the sunlight making the orange in his hair flare out spectacularly. For what might have been the first time, Greg looked upon the face of a man truly happy and without stress. It made him look younger and more alive than he’d noticed before. Greg reached up and gently ran his fingers across his soft cheek. It was just all perfect, and Greg wanted to say something in response… but knew that there was nothing he could say that would come close to the meaningful and heartfelt things Mycroft had said to him. 

And then he remembered he was wearing his coat. 

_It’s time._

Greg smiled broadly at Mycroft.   
“You are amazing. I never thought I’d be happy like you make me. Your words, especially those last four, touched me deeply. This… all of this… is perfect. There’s only four words I can say back to you that could even compare.” Greg said, staring into Mycroft’s glittering blue eyes. 

Greg then simultaneously reached into his coat breast pocket and slid down onto one knee. He looked up at Mycroft, and opened up the ring case, presenting the golden band to him. 

“Mycroft Holmes, will you marry me?” 

Time stood still for Mycroft. His eyes went wide and his heart leapt as Gregory had begun to kneel, and he froze all together when he saw the ring. It was happening… it was finally happening. Adrenaline surged through his body and he broke out in gooseflesh. 

“Yes,” Mycroft exclaimed, “Gregory Lestrade, of course I will marry you.” 

Greg beamed hearing the response, and slid the golden band onto Mycroft’s finger. He stood and grabbed him by the face and kissed him passionately. Mycroft leaned into Gregory’s touch, giving all of himself to the man’s ministrations. He gripped his partner tightly, still in shock at how unbelievably wonderful everything felt. Greg held him firmly in response, overwhelmed with glee and the resounding reassurance that put his soul at peace: he wasn’t going to be alone anymore. 

The light of the sun shone upon them both, but that wasn’t why Mycroft was feeling so warm. He was truly loved by this extraordinary man, his faults and all. The ice man had melted completely. All that time he thought he’d be alone forever… when really he was just waiting. Waiting for Gregory. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to paint this scene with my dragon characters of Myc and Greg: http://bryntwedge.tumblr.com/image/166597012193 
> 
> There's some other little comics involving them both on the tumblr as well if you feel like having a look. 
> 
> The next instalment will be posted soon! Part IV will have a mix of difficulties from the past and nice fluff.


End file.
